


That Listless Feeling

by CalamityInMotion



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 05:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityInMotion/pseuds/CalamityInMotion
Summary: Idris has fallen. Valentine has risen to power and spared Clary for her power over runes. Unfortunately he has little time ruling the new Shadowhunter government to deal with his emotional daughter, so it falls on her brother. Jonathan might not think she's particularly useful, but even a demon Shadowhunter needs entertainment.Warning: Angst and Incest. If that doesn't scare you, Torture. If you're cool with those things, read and enjoy because the other stuff probably won't bother you either.





	1. Paint Me a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so…Extended Summery:
> 
> Valentine won the battle, wiped the floor with the Clave, and now has rule over all of Alicante. In a fit of pity he has yet to understand, he chose to spare his daughter, telling himself it was for her power over runes.
> 
> While Valentine is busy deciding when to trust his estranged daughter, Jonathan takes the opportunity to have a bit of fun with his favorite new plaything.
> 
> It will deal with Clary's desperation for comfort, in whatever form, and from whoever she can find it with. Even Jonathan. Lots of angst and talk of depression, so fair warning.
> 
> Real Warning: This will get naughty and violent. Non-con/dub-con are a thing as well as torture.

“Clarissa, this is not the time.” Valentine sighed, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers on his desk.

“It’s not a good time for what? Wanting to protect myself?” she crossed her arms.

“We have discussed this. Your abilities are far too unpredictable to trust you with a steele.”

“Because you think I will use it against you?”

Her father’s dark eyes snapped up to meet her own, angry though his voice was placid. “Because I _know_ you will.” Looking back at his papers, he let slip a wicked smile. “Besides, you have your brother for protection. What need do you have for weaponry?”

Clary’s eyes slid to the bastard in question, lounging across the study. He’d been lost in a book while they argued, dark leather boots propped up on the coffee table in front of him. Realizing he’d been mentioned, his black eyes slid from the book, to their father, and then to Clary in mild curiosity. When he caught the way she was glaring at him, Jonathan offered up a bright, innocent smile that didn't quite meet his eyes because he was too lazy to try. She gave a humorless laugh.

“That is probably the biggest reason I’m asking for weapons. That demon is more likely to throw me to his brothers then protect me.”

“The answer is _no_ , Clarissa.”

“He’d probably lead me into danger just so he could watch me fight my way out!”

The cold smile on the demon’s face was confirmation. Valentine however had heard enough. His hands slapped down onto the desk, echoing the sound throughout the study. His gaze snapped up to Clary, narrowing dangerously. He might be her father, but that didn’t mean she was safe from him. She found herself shrinking under that heavy, black gaze. 

“Jonathan, please show your sister to her room.”

She opened her mouth to protest but the demon was already up and moving toward her, faster than anyone should be _able_ to move. His smile when she flinched at it, would have made the devil proud. Not bothering to be gentle, he grabbed her upper arm and began to drag her into the hall. She struggled of course, not that it mattered. Jonathan was so frighteningly strong. All he had to do was tighten his grip and she was wincing from the pain of it, knowing there would be bruises.

It didn’t take long for him to march her up the manor stairs and down the hall of bedrooms. She had no real options but to stumble after him. This was one of many properties Valentine acquired after his rise to power. There were others all over the human world, but Clary hadn't seen much of anything but this extravagant house since her father took the proverbial throne. Funny thing about paranoid psychopaths, they continue being that way even after they get what they want. She was his daughter, and he kept her close, but that was onky to make sure he had eyes on her at all times. She was too dangerous to be let out where others might use her against him. Sadly even in her father's decisions, she was still worthless beyond her gift. 

When they reached her door Jonathan shoved her inside and followed her in, locking the door behind him. Clary stumbled back against the post of her large bed and watched him as he moved slowly to her bookshelf. It threw her off a bit to be suddenly ignored and she watched him look over her small collection of personal items closely. His slender fingers ran across the line of covers, pausing on one of her drawing books. She watched him start to pull it from the shelf and felt her chest tighten in anger and just a little dear that he'd look inside. Her art was private these days. 

“Alright, you’ve done your job.” Clary swallowed, fighting to keep herself calm. “Get out of my room.”

He let his head tilt back, a slow sigh hissing out between his teeth as he stared at the ceiling. When he finished his eyes slid to her from the side and he dropped his hand from the shelf. “I think we should talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” She frowned, watching him turn around to face her. It really was amazing how much he looked like Valentine. Tall and lean. He had a striking face, elegant almost, and pale. It was the eyes though that always got her. Black, soulless, and empty. He got them from Valentine, but somehow his seemed more intimidating. They were the only warning that he was not what he seemed. The rest was all attractive and inviting.

“You don’t seem to like me much, little sister.” He said this with the slightest hint of humor, as if she should have found him funny. Clary felt only the slow boiling of anger at his title for her. At his very existence really. He shouldn't have been here. Fate made an awful decision. 

“You’ve given me little reason to.” She answered honestly. Jonathan moved very slowly around her, like a wolf stalking its prey. His obsidian eyes were on everything else in the room, but somehow it felt deceptive. He was too fast to let her guard down, and she knew better than to think he wasn't paying attention to her anymore. 

“Ah, this again.” He shook his head and paused at her easel. She grit her teeth when his fingers lifted to stroke the half-formed line of a boy, rising from a battlefield. “He is always at the root of things isn’t he?”

He meant Jace, but she couldn't take it if he said his name out loud. He didn't have the right. 

“Does it hurt to know he was murdered? That he choked on blood and _your_ name when I drove my dagger into his heart?”

“Stop.” Clary said it very softly, hardly able to breathe now that Jonathan was so close.

“It’s pathetic really. What little time you had together was spent in shame and regret. Does it hurt to know you could have had your angel all along?” He shook his head, snickering at the thought. "You didn't even try really, just ran around flirting and fawning over each other. You ruined it for yourselves really, and it was all for nothing. For a lie you swollowed without question." 

“Stop it, Jonathan.” She spoke now with an exhaustion that reached her very bones. The demon only smiled, glancing down at the signet ring that hung from its silver chain around her neck. The one Jace had given her before running off to play hero. How she hated him for that now. For not returning for it and leaving her alone to all of this horror. 

“Shall I pretend then, so you can get it right? Shall we imagine I am your lost Jace? I know you've been terribly lonely, little sister.”

The fury that swelled up as that thing spoke his name made Clary’s head light. What he implied made her stomach twist in knots. Her fists tightened in the sheets beside her and she grit her teeth, speaking through them.

“You **disgust** me.” She spat, taking cruel satisfaction when his smile melted to cold irritation. He did not like hearing such things, which is precisely why she said them. His pride was generally the only thing she could attack and get away with. 

“I was talking to Malacai about the day you tried to rally the war with your gift. I heard about what you did to convince the Clave to side with your cause." He grinned, leaning against the post of her bed and gazing down at her. His smile was dark. Dangerous. “You showed them the one they loved most. Appealed to their hearts.” He rolled his eyes. “It was clever, I’ll give you that, but a dirty trick.”

“I needed them to realize what they were fighting for,” she protested, noting that he had just completely changed the subject. Where he was going with it, she had no idea. Jonathan arched a brow, skepticism written across his face.

“You needed them to fight, period, and that was the easiest way to get it. I respect that, though it was a waste of time in the end. You were doing what you had to, no matter how cruel.”

“It wasn’t cruel, I…” He was smiling at her again and the look made her nervous. She trailed off into temporary silence as he pulled a steele from his belt and pushed up his sleeve. “What are you-”

“Malachi showed me the mark.” He replied, slowly tracing the lines of her rune on the inside of his wrist. “It makes me wonder what else you can create. I can think of a thousand suggestions, but I’m sure we’ll explore them soon enough.”

Clary’s eyes skipped from his face to the mark slowly forming on his skin. She felt every muscle in her body go tight with dread. That rune would make him into the person she loved most. The person she wanted to see most. Instantly her heart began to pound and she turned her face away. 

Jonathan chuckled to himself and moved down onto the bed with his knee. Clary squeezed her eyes closed, telling herself to breathe. He was cruel, absolutely heartless. God, of all the things he could do to her, of all the torments. Then again, why wouldn't he choose this? He knew it was the one thing that could still tear her to pieces.

“Look at me, Clary.”  
She shook her head, crawling backwards on the mattress until she hit the headboard, and even that was not far enough away. His voice! Oh sweet angels, his voice was not Jonathan's anymore. She had almost forgotten how it sounded. How it rumbled down her spine. A soft, animal sound of misery escaped her lips as she felt him crawling toward her over the mattress. He straddled her knees, fingers slipping around her chin to force her head straight again.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clarissa. Open your eyes and look at me.”

“Why are you doing this?” she cried, keeping her eyes tightly closed. His grip on her jaw was growing tighter as he lost his patience.

“I’m _helping_ you.” He insisted, but she could hear the smile in his voice without having to see it. “Do you not wish everyday for him to return unharmed? I have heard you weeping here in this room, Clary. Calling out his name.”

She slumped forward against him, burying her face against his shoulder. It was a mistake because the moment she did, she was filled with the scent of earth and sunlight. Of Jace.

“Please stop.” She murmured, but Jonathan only chuckled, lifting her up again.

“Then look at me.” He replied. “ _Think_ about it, Clary. Who will hold you now that the angel-boy is rotting in the ground? Who do you have left? Without this, without me, you are alone.”

She shook her head, but the truth was there. How cruel that even the monster saw it. She had it, that one thing every girl is told to dream of. The thing the world said was only meant for those special few. She had love. Real, painful, infuriating, all-consuming, WONDERFUL **love**. Now she had nothing but her fanatical father and his twisted, soulless son. She had the endless procession of days spent locked away when important people came to talk business, because she was not to be trusted with sensitive information. The bone-wrenching loneliness of having no one left to confide in without fear that they were a spy planted by her father. So, knowing that it would break her heart, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. She had nothing left now. She just wanted to remember what she'd lost.

Sweet god, he was beautiful. She had almost forgotten. Sure his face was always in her head, but recently it had come to her in flashes. Golden eyes. A wicked smile. Tousled, blond hair. Though she tried to hold them, the images seemed to slip further and further away, and soon she feared she would forget his face altogether. Yet here it was. Now it all came together in a single, breathtaking image. Her fingers trembled as they reached tentatively out to brush the line of his jaw. It was Jace, down to the last scar. Every detail perfect, even his smell.

Jace covered her fingers with his own and smiled down at her. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. This was Jace. Her beautiful, strong Jace. Alive.  
Suddenly, he was pulling her closer to the center of the bed and wrapping his arm around her back. Clary let him, unable to speak as he traced the line of her lower lip with the calloused tip of his finger. How she'd missed those hands, elegant and tapered, like a pianist. She drew a shuttering gasp as those long fingers fell away and he dipped forward to brush his lips over hers.

Her mind knew this was a lie, even if her body screamed differently. There was something about the kiss, something wrong. she knew this was not her Jace, but it had been so long since he'd held her, and he was right _here_. He was sitting right in front of her and she could touch him again, breathe him in, feel the heat of him washing over her skin. For a moment, she could live with the lie.

Clary's fingers went to the back of his neck, the other hand to his chest. He smiled again, in that dazzling way that made her heart ache, breathing her name against her lips. Something twisted in her chest and the pain it left in her heart was a dull ache. She blinked away tears as they slowly laid down onto the mattress, but the emotions that rushed in with then were a blurry wash against her desperate need for this comfort. The momentary touch of a love long dead. Jace trailed his long, slender fingers down her side, then slipped them beneath her shirt and she couldn't bring herself to listen to the logical voice at the back of her head that opposed it. 

"Do you love me, Clary?" He spoke against her throat, kissing a trail downward.

"More than anything," she replied, closing her eyes. The dull ache in her chest was growing. Demanding that she face reality. Jace was dead, Simon imprisoned for Valentine's experiments. Magnus was who even knew where and the Lightwood children had vanished after the last battle. She was alone, and this would not change. Looking back up at him, she silently screamed that it wasn't true. Her world was right _here_ , braced above her.  
And unbuttoning her shirt.

"Do you want me, Clary?" he asked, gazing steadily down at her exposed torso, pale and too thin. She was only just keeping herself fed these days. Unfortunately it had begun to show. 

"Always," she murmured, and another tear slipped back into her hair.

"Prove it." he grinned, "Show me."

Without a word, Clary took his hand and placed it over her breast. She didn't know what she was thinking anymore. God she missed him, ached to see him alive, wanted more than anything in all of the world to have him back again, but this was all she got. This shimmer in reality that smiled like him and tasted like him and she suddenly wanted to know if he felt like him too, because she wasn't sure if she could remember in the first place. Maybe this was all she needed. Pretending with magic that allowed her to remember the past. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat when she led his fingers down her sternum and across her belly. She would regret this later, but God did she _miss_ him. 

"Jonathan!" The cry came from the hallway outside her room.

The air around Jace seemed to ripple like waves of heat warping the air, and the glamour melted away. Her heart sank with it. Jonathan glanced back over his shoulder at the door, cursing under his breath. She couldn't stop staring at him. The sharp, angular cast of his face. The black eyes. That pale, almost silver hair. It was all wrong. Not Jace. Jace was gone, destroyed by the demon above her once again and Clary felt like she was melting down into the mattress. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She'd let Jonathan kiss her. She'd been weak enough to allow herself to pretend and it was crashing down on her as she stared up at him. This must have been what rock bottom felt like.

"Valentine requests your presence at the Hall of Records. You can deal with the traitor child later."

The demon sighed, looking down at Clary as if in regret, then rolled off of her and the bed. She was thankful for the sudden distance when she could breathe again. 

"Yes." he said softly, "Yes I can."

He left her then in quiet sobs, unable to move. Clary was broken and lost.


	2. Recon

He wanted her out of his hair.  
Clary wasn't stupid. Valentine wouldn't have sent her out on a hunt with Jonathan for any other reason. He openly mocked her lack of training and ability. Save her power over runes, he said she was useless. So when he told her to follow Jonathan into the field, stalking a nest of vampires, she'd known. He couldn't stand her. He was willing to toss her out into danger claiming it was good practice just for the peace and quiet. Perhaps he even hoped she wouldn't return. He'd told her how he truly felt about her the day Idris fell.

_You are the only thing Jocelyn loved more than me. Because of you she hates me, and because of that, I hate the sight of you._

Clary had never really loved her father. He was a horrid, psychotic zealot. Despite this, his words hurt her more deeply than she liked to admit. Despite herself, she didn't want to be hated by her father, but that wasn't exactly wrong. She was supposed to love her father and he was supposed to love her back. The world unfortunately was not so simple. 

"You need to keep your mind on the matter at hand." Jonathan was glaring at her from his crouched position at the opposite wall. She wasn't sure how long he'd been staring. Clary took a deep breath and nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced, and turned her gaze back to the tiny broken bits of wall she could see through into the next room.

Jonathan of course was fully prepared. He had his steele, a sword -the real and now dead, Sebastian Verlac's- and several other small weapons strapped to his belt. He was also dressed in the famous Shadowhunter uniform of leather. She however, was dressed in ratty jeans and a t-shirt. She'd thrown on her Shadowhunter belt hoping Jonathan would give her some sort of weapon, but he'd only smiled and shook his head. It was further proof that she should fear his intentions. Walking her into a vampire nest unarmed was just as good as dangling her out on a stick.

"Will there be many of them?" she asked softly, trying to keep her breathing steady. Jonathan, who was drawing a dagger from his boot, glanced her way and arched a brow.

"Are you afraid?"

Her lips pressed tightly together and she glared at him. Jonathan smirked and moved silently to her side. It was unfair how quiet he could be, as if he wasn't there at all. It was somewhat unnerving actually.

"Don't fret, little sister," he murmured, pulling her close and kissing her hair, "I'll protect you."

"Oh yeah, _that's_ a relief." Clary rolled her eyes and turned back toward the opening in the wall. Then she let out a scream. Eyes. There were eyes and they were starring right back at her!

Jonathan grabbed the back of her shirt and hauled her away before the plaster could crack and the vampire exploded through it. She hit the ground with a this but she was more concerned by the vampire than her bruised tailbone. He moved so quickly, Clary could hardly follow it, already lunging at Jonathan before the plaster had hit the floor. Clary crab-walked back away from them, eyes wide and mouth open, ready for a second scream. She was being a baby. She needed to get her shit together, but it had been so long since she'd really trained or even had a weapon and suddenly she doubted she knew how. Suddenly she felt so worthless she couldn't even move. 

Jonathan drew his sword -Clary didn't know what had happened to the dagger- and went into his fighting stance, black eyes practically sparkling with anticipation. The vampire looked between the two of them, then slowly straightened.

"You are no Shadowhunter." He narrowed his eyes, watching Jonathan in what looked like confusion. "You dress like them, but your blood, it is…"

The dagger appeared again, shooting at the vampire before he could move. Clary watched the blade sink to the hilt into the creature's gut. The vampire let out a howl of pain, stumbling back against the ruined wall, his hands closing around the dagger as he tried to wrench the thing from his body.

"Is that enough for you, leech?" Jonathan demanded with a snarl. His black eyes glinted maliciously and Clary curled into herself on the dirty floor, only able to watch. He was so cold in battle, like Jace. Completely set on his task. The difference was the rage. There was hatred in Jonathan's face, hatred she knew had no real stem or focus. It just boiled inside him, churning and twisting and warping until it bubbled over into violence and cruelty. Perhaps Valentine had been trying to purge his son while he spurned her with this mission. Like running a dog to sap it of its energy. He let him out to do his fighting and intimidating because if he didn't, that boiling hatred might turn back on Valentine himself. 

It took a moment, but the vampire managed to pull the dagger out and toss it far across the room. His eyes narrowed to furious slits and he crouched down ready to spring as Jonathan did the same. Clary couldn't follow the fight once they attacked each other, it was happening too quickly. She caught the harsh, scrapping clammer of metal on metal and knew that staying here was dangerous. It took a bit of will and reminding herself that once upon a time, she had been a decent fighter, but she dragged herself back onto her feet and moved away from them, deeper into the building.

Fear curled in her gut at the thought of other vampires lurking these old halls. Surely they would have appeared by now, right? At the sound of fighting, they would have rushed to investigate and protect their brother. Assuming of course vampires cared that much about one another. She'd certainly never sensed much compassion in Raphael, and no one else could ever quite be Simon.  
Something snapped to her right and she jumped, fearing the worst.

"Damnit Clary!"

She spun in time to see the vampire spring forward, shooting at her so fast with his sword that his feet left the ground. She only went rigid for a moment, but already she knew it was too late. He was going to get her. She could do nothing but brace herself for the cut of his blade. Then suddenly, as if he had teleported, Jonathan was there shoving her to the side. Shoving her out of the way of the sword that so narrowly missed her that she felt the edge of the blade brush across her belly. 

He caught the vampire as it landed, exactly where she had been standing before. Grabbing its wrist, he spun into it, twisted the blade from its hand and stabbing backwards. Clary watched as the sword sunk right into the vampire's chest and ripped out through its back.

It gagged, slumping forward, but Jonathan elbowed it back and turned, planting his boot on the end of the sword and shoving it in to the hilt. The vampire blinked once, as if it could not believe what had just happened. Like the idea of failure hadn't even been a possibility. Clary watched, clutching her chest as it coughed wetly, crumpled to the floor, and began to smolder like logs in a fire.

"You saved me." She sounded amazed even to herself as she turned to Jonathan. It wasn't thankful, more confused. Scoffing, he grabbed his sword and pulled it from the dead creature by planting his boot on its singed chest.

"No, I got you out of my way so that I wouldn't have to bring your corpse back to our father _and_ explain how I let you charge a downworlder without a weapon." His voice had risen steadily toward the end and he punctuated the sentence by slicing his sword into the vampire's neck. The wet sound made her flinch, one hand going to the empty holster for her steele out of some ghost of a reflex.

"It's not my fault he won't let me have one," she grumbled, sounding very much like an obstinate child. Jonathan growled deep in the back of his throat like some kind of animal and kicked the severed head across the room. It started the smolder like the rest of the corpse shortly after. 

"No, but it is your fault that I still have to explain that bruise on your jaw."

She frowned, "What bruise?"

His knuckles cracked across the side of her face, snapping her head to the side. She cried out and covered herself, working her mouth. Hot pain pulsed across her jaw and brought on fury and humiliation. Not yet finished, Jonathan snatched up her chin, digging his fingers into the flesh and dragging her attention back to him.

"I've only idly wondered how satisfying it would be to throw you to the demons and watch them tear you apart." She opened her mouth to retort, but he growled over her, tightening his grip. "If you get in my way again, I will allow myself the pleasure of finding out. Valentine be damned."

"Get off of me!" Clary snarled, shoving him back and dragging the sword with her. The demon boy smirked, eyes dancing from the blade pointed at his throat to her face. He tilted his head, straightened his posture, and stepped into the blade. The tip dug into the flesh at the side of his throat but it didn't break the skin. All she had to do was twitch and she could cut him open.

"Go on then, if you can," he smiled, trying to provoke her. The tip of the blade nicked his skin when she shifted her grip on the leather handle, drawing blood. He didn't even flinch, just let the drop of dark blood trail down into his collar and watched her intently. "This is your chance."

Clary could only gaze at him, clutching the sword so tightly it hurt. After a long, tense moment, Jonathan sighed, shaking his head, then he sprang into motion like a striking snake. He bashed the back of his fist into her wrists and sent the sword flying to the ground, then wrapped his fingers in the front of her shirt and dragged her up onto her toes. She dangled pathetically, clawing at his hand.

"And you wonder why father keeps you from the weapons."

"Let go!" she cried, trying to kick at him and furious that Jonathan only laughed at her. The bastard let her hang there, brows raising in amusement until she stopped struggling. He wanted her to know that he was in control, the she was nothing. That he was so fucking strong that he could just hold her up there, and that in itself was an uncomfortable realization. And it worked.

After a long moment, Jonathan lowered her, still gripping the front of her shirt, and slid the toe of his boot beneath his fallen sword. With a soft sigh, he kicked the blade up into the air and caught the hilt, slinging it over his back and into its sheath in a single, fluid motion that made her want to scoff and cheer all at once.

"Show off." She spat, trying again to peel his fingers from her shirt, but his grip was like iron.

"The others have fled." Jonathan sighed, glancing around the room and briefly at the headless vampire. The corpse was rapidly disintegrating now, as if all the years it had lived were suddenly taking their toll. Clary was lost in the sight until she was lifted back into the air and thrown over Jonathan's shoulder like a doll.

"Put me down you son of a b-"

"Ah ah." He tsk'ed, giving her backside a quick smack that made her face flame in embarrassment and rage. "That's your mother too, sweet sister-mine. Let's not be rude."

Then he was running and she could only hold tightly to his back as they fled the building. One of these days, Clary told herself, she would kill this monster. He and her bastard father would meet the same painful end. She would make sure of it. She just needed to get her shit together and start using her time alone in her room to do a bit of practicing. Find the girl who didn't wither at danger, since apparently she'd fled with the other parts of Clary's life that had once been good. That girl would have tried to kick Jonathan's ass when he punched her for no reason. That girl would have at least given him a shiver in return. She needed to find that girl again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real for a moment. If you beat up on women or frankly other men in a relationship or in general, you are a dick. Stop being such a POS. No one should have to point that out, but the world is unfortunately full of garbage people.  
> That being said, this is a fictional story about a guy who's a demon...so let's also be real about that and not blow things out of proportion by getting mad at me for writing this. It's supposed to be fucked up. Go with it. Just don't take it as an excuse to be a dick too.


	3. There was a Moment

It was nearly 2 in the morning when Clary heard the knock at her door. She didn't respond of course. There were only so many people it could be, none of which she had any desire to speak to, but the door opened anyway and Jonathan sauntered in.

Clary sat straight on her bed quick as she could manage. There was no reason to give him ideas, the sick bastard already had enough of them. She watched him closely as he locked the door behind him and slid his steele into his boot. 

"I've brought you something." He said with a smile, pausing to check on the painting of Jace she had been working on for weeks. Since the night Jonathan tortured her with his image, she'd nearly finished it. It was one thing she could grudgingly thank him for. She could now remember every detail of her beloved's face and had rushed to capture it before the image slipped away again.

"You were running low on supplies." Jonathan said, tossing her a bag, "Now you may paint all of him that you can stand. Perhaps I'll even commission a work of me."

Clary didn't respond. She caught the bag, but didn't brother looking inside, just dropped it onto the floor beside her bed. The message was clear.

_Don't count on it._

He had clearly come in a playful mood, because that only made him chuckle. With a grin he indicated the canvas.   
"It could be dark, thrilling. An image of the corpses of Idris's fallen. A throne of bodies, and at its peek, I would ravage you for all of them to see."

The image he evoked sent a shudder of revulsion through her and she scowled at him as he approached.

"Don't you have someone else you can annoy. Maybe even a friend who actually wants you?" She cut him a scathing look as he sank down onto her bed beside her, resting his head back in his arms. Jonathan's smile curled into the wicked slash of a thing that meant he was thinking about something terrible.

"Oh, but the chase is so much fun with you, Clary. You're all wrapped in shame and hesitation. I think I might even understand why the angel boy let you wallow like this." His eyes slid down her legs and back to her face very slowly and she didn't bother to hide the shudder of disgust.

"I do have other suitors, if that is what you meant." He shrugged. "After all, I am very attractive. _You_ thought so when we met."

She rolled her eyes.

Jonathan sighed, "Isabelle was something else, I must admit. I would have loved to get inside of that one. Perhaps when we've caught the Lightwoods, I will."

"You don't have to be crude." Clary scowled. Silently she prayed that her friends would remain in whatever hole they had hidden in.

"Oh, but I'm so good at it." He replied, sitting back up. When she refused to look at him, Jonathan chuckled and rolled over on top of her before Clary could anticipate the movement. His fingers slid under her chin, forcing it up so that he could search her eyes.

"Don't be jealous, little sister. She would only be a fling." He stroked her cheek lightly. "She never had your fire." He chuckled. "She would have never fought as hard as you do."

His forefinger stroked the line of her lower lip, dipping into her mouth until she snapped down, fully intending to bite it off. There were days when Jonathan didn't even pretend not to want her. He was a disgustingly forward thing.

"Get out of my room." She hissed, pushing at him until he caught both her wrists and pinned them together above her head, juggling them into one hand. The other he used to trace the hem of her shirt with a sly grin.

"We have unfinished business, you and I."

"Does Valentine know you're here?" Clary asked, trying to ignore the warm brush of his fingers as they slid up beneath.

"Do you think he would care if he did?" The way he looked at her, she knew there was a slight chance that no, Valentine wouldn't. Not because they weren't his children, but just because he didn't care enough about them for it to matter. Either way, she wasn't just going to sit here and let this demon have his way.

"I think he would care that his children are fornicating, whether he likes the pair of them or not." She lied without flinching. It was a trick she learned from Jonathan. "He has a strict moral code, as you know. I'm sure incest is not part of it."

Jonathan frowned, but the hand beneath her shirt didn't pause. His fingers traced across the ridges of her ribs, up to the swell of her breast. She flinched when the backs of his fingers ran along the underside of her left breast. He traced the wire of her bra before hooking a finger under it and dragging the cup up out of the way. He squeezed the mound of flesh, making her shiver at the heat of his hand and the realization of what was actually happening at that moment.   
"Incest is such a strong word," he said slowly and his thumb brushed cheekily across her nipple. "After all, after what our father did to me, we are hardly even the same _species_ , Clary."

"You're still my brother." She said, hoping to stop him. Hoping for anything really, because once again she couldn't move. Why the fuck couldn't she move?

"No." He smiled faintly and his dark eyes hardened as he watched her. "I am a demon, remember? You say it all the time. Isn't this what demons do?"

She hissed in a breath when he leaned forward, kissing her throat and biting down on it painfully. Her skin was so pale that she would have a dark bruise in the morning, but something told her that he intended it. Like a mark, a claim. His mouth trailed down to her breast and his kissed the rounded swell with a smile. She watched entranced as he lifted his eyes up to her and bit down on the spot, pinching until she wiggled beneath him and whimpered. He kissed it again after, humming a soft laugh into her throbbing skin and pressing his lips into the hot mark as it pulsed with pain. Clary squirmed beneath him, tugging at his hold on her wrists, but it didn't budge. 

The hand that had been teasing her breast was splayed across her ribs now. She shivered when he dragged it down to her hip, his nails leaving little red tracks behind. She was beginning to think his intention was to leave as many marks as he could. Things she couldn't forget or ignore. He squeezed her hip, then his hand slid down around the back of her thigh to drag it up against his side. He pressed his hips into hers and she shivered again, but this time it left a jittery little feeling in the pit of her gut. Something she couldn't properly name because she was bursting already with fear and confusion and disgust.

God, she missed Jace. She needed him now to protect her and to hold her. Not Jonathan, who was too rough and cold as ice. Not this monster. What did this make her that she could not fight such an attack? What terrible thing was she that she would let her brother do such disgusting things to her? Was his evil rubbing off on her? Was she changing into something heartless and empty like him now? It had only been a matter of time, she supposed. After losing so much, how could she not seek comfort in the first thing available? When God had abandoned her, how could she not take comfort from the Devil? And yet, Clary knew in her bones she couldn't do this. Their blood relation aside, he was a terrible, soulless _thing_ , and to let him touch her was like spitting on the memory of Jace. It was not worth it for her desperate need for comfort. It couldn't be.

"Get off of me." She cried, bucking her hips up to throw him to the side. Caught off guard, the demon rolled, releasing her long enough that she could scramble away off the bed and grab the first thing closest to a weapon. Jonathan recovered quickly, pushing himself to his feet on the opposite side of the bed with a sigh of irritation.

"Must you be so difficult?" he asked, arching a brow when she brandished her thickest wooden paintbrush like a dagger.

"Get out." She replied flatly. He needed to leave, before the swirling emptiness inside of her chest forgot why she was fighting again. Loneliness was a much more powerful thing than she had realized. She pictured Jace and held to that image and the sadness it conjured if only to keep Jonathan from her thoughts. He was like a sickness, sinking its way beneath her skin, one for which she knew there was no cure.

"Clarissa…" he began but she shook her head.

"Get. Out."

Jonathan watched her a moment, glancing down at the paintbrush, probably knowing it would be easy to take from her, but didn't move. After an endless moment, he rolled his eyes and the tension in him melted away. He ran his fingers back through his pale hair and chuckled.

"Very well. I suppose I'll find my pleasures elsewhere tonight." With that, and one last look that spoke too clearly of exactly what he had planned to do with her, he turned and left her room, locking her in. The moment his footsteps receded down the hall Clary callapsed onto the floor, breathing like she'd been held under water.

 _Too close,_ she thought. _That was too close to becoming something unforgivable._


	4. Broken Bones

Clary stared down at her plate as if the thing was covered in maggots. That was about as appetizing as she found it anyway. She'd read somewhere that depression quieted the appetite. Unfortunately she had found it was indeed the case with her. She seemed to eat now, not because she was hungry, but because it kept others off her back. She was forcing herself to finish the majority of it when the commotion started. Shouts and crashes like a fight had broken out in the main hall and Clary couldn't help but investigate. She hurried into the main room still clutching her fork, and nearly collapsed at what she saw.

"Hold her still Jonathan, we wouldn't want her to damage herself yet." Valentine's smile was wholly evil as his son subdued the struggling girl. She was thinner than Clary remembered, and dirty as if she'd been living outside for months, but there was no mistaking that beautiful face.

"Isabelle?" Clary whispered. The fork slid from her fingers to clatter on the marble floor, drawing the attention of her father and the others. _No,_ she shrieked inside. _Not Isabelle. She was supposed to stay safe, far away from here! Had they found Alec too?_ She prayed it was a dream. 

"Good evening, Clarissa." Her father smiled even wider when Jonathan was forced to bend Isabelle's arm up behind her back until she yelped in pain to get her to stop struggling. He motioned that Clary come closer, enjoying the no doubt horrified look on her face.

"We found her on the other side," Jonathan said, wrapping his free hand around Isabelle's throat and tightening until she choked. "Not saying I'm surprised though. It was only a matter of time."

"Now, Jonathan," her father chided playfully, "We mustn't gloat."

"Where's Alec?" Clary asked, feeling the beginnings of tears as they blurred her vision.

Isabelle managed a faint smile, "Safe." she coughed harshly. Her voice was rough and far too broken for Clary's liking, and when she turned to glare acid at Valentine, there was a deep purple bruise on her jaw like she'd been punched.

"Well," Valentine tilted his head, reaching out to turn the girl to face him, "I imagine he won't be for long."

"Sir." One of his many sycophants bowed and glanced around at all of them, beady eyes pausing on Isabelle. "She isn't the only one. We may have found a nest of them at the edge of the forest. The firenote only just arrived. If we hurry we may be able to catch them before they suspect anything."

Valentine's eyes closed in a look of pure bliss and he inhaled slowly. "Yes. I would like that very much." He turned to Jonathan. "You will tend to this while I am away. She knows where her perverse brother is hiding and I want his location by morning if she has it. I don't imagine he is far behind his favorite sibling."

Valentine turned on his heel to follow the guard, but paused at the door to look back at his son with a cruel smile, "And Jonathan, exercise restraint. I want her _alive_ when I bring back the heads of her comrades."

Clary's stomach rolled when the door shut behind him. She felt near collapsing. She couldn't help. What the hell was she supposed to do here? If she attacked Jonathan, or tried to wrestle Izzy away, the guards would decend on her without thought. 

"Clary!" Isabelle cried fearfully, reaching out toward her as Jonathan hauled her into the next room. Clary wasted no time following, even if she couldn't stop him, she couldn't leave her friend alone. A part of her was furious at the girl. Why hadn't she remained hidden? Why had she let herself get caught this way? After all this time. What was she doing she close to Valentine's loyal Shadowhunters?

She followed them down into the hall, then through the door to the caverns below where they kept the downworlders like Simon. It was a place of pain. Their screams often echoed up to Clary's room leaving her unable to sleep and sick to her stomach at the thought of what her father was doing to them. No doubt Jonathan played his part in this place as well.

When they'd reached an empty room, he tossed Isabelle hard against the wall, taking advantage of the time she took to shake it off to close the door behind Clary. The Lightwood girl was strong though. Clenching her small fists, she charged the demon, only to be struck down again with a laugh.

"You know, I didn't think I would ever see you again, Izzy." Jonathan said, reaching down to grab her by the hair and drag her over to the wall. When she tried to lash out again he swung at her, connecting with her temple and leaving her dazed and sagging against him.

Clary watched, frozen in fear and sickness, as he secured Isabelle in the shackles connected to the wall and stood again with a wicked smile. He moved casually to the table beside her as Isabelle tried again to attack him, pulled sharply back by the short lengths of chain now holding her wrists.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm pleased." He continued, unconcerned by her tries to hurt him. "After I saw you last I figured you would have perished by now. I forgot how resilient you are."

With this he grabbed a corner of the large canvas cloth draped across the table and jerked it back. Beneath the material was an array of tools, knives and other instruments Clary couldn't process that made her groan in fear. Clary fell back against the wall holding herself tightly, unable to move to help her friend or even speak.

Jonathan smiled as he lifted one particular instrument -a curved blade with a barb at its end- and glanced toward the now trembling Isabelle. "I don't suppose you'll make this easy and tell me where your freak of a brother is hiding?"

Face going cold with utter hatred, she spat at him, glaring for all she was worth. The demon wasn't impressed though. He chuckled, moving to grab her by the throat and force her to the end of her leash.

"I didn't think so," he murmured, turning her face to inspect it with an odd look. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, but it seemed more likely to come from the idea of hurting her rather than the way he usually directed it at Clary.   
Isabelle cried out when the barb caught in her shoulder, tearing into the flesh there with a wet sound that turned Clary's stomach so violently she feared she would vomit.

"No," she whispered as Jonathan ripped the thing out of Isabelle and tossed it back onto the table. Still holding her throat, he leaned forward and drew his tongue along the gash, gathering the blood like he was tasting her. Like an animal. It made her shudder.

"I imagined what it would be like to do this," he said softly, dropping her throat to move back to the table. This time he found a pile of steel hooks and stuffed them into his pocket. He moved across the room to a large bar that hung across two steel beams. The thing was a good couple of feet taller than him, equipped with wheels at its base so that he could move it just in front of her. Isabelle had drawn back against the wall to watch him as he moved once more to the table and retrieved what looked like thin cables.

"You know, I always liked you, Isabelle." Jonathan leaned back against the table and pulled out one of the hooks. As he spoke he threaded one end with the cable, fastening it with small metal clasps so that it wouldn't come undone. He worked quickly, and did so with a casualness that added to Clary's terror.

"You were so strong, and beautiful. Most would see a young woman like you and disregard her as weak, but not me." He smiled up at her briefly before continuing with his hooks. "I saw how you fought. You gave your brother a run for his money and that I can respect. It isn't often that you find a girl such as yourself."

After he'd fitted six separate hooks with the cables he went to the beams and reached out to lower the bar by the rope and pulley attached to it. Isabelle had paled as she watched him, while Clary could hardly breathe. Jonathan lowered the bar to his shoulders, then began fitting the cables around the bar so that the hooks hung free a foot below.

"If not for your alliances, I might have courted you." He chuckled, glancing her way to take in her reaction. "Funny how things work out isn't it?"Jonathan moved the beams up against the wall so that they framed Isabelle like a doorway, smiling at the way she shrank away from them. He stepped forward, knotting his fist in her hair and forcing back her head until she groaned.

"It's a pity I won't be able to keep you when we've finished. Something tells me you would have made a wonderful plaything." Jonathan grinned, searching her face for something he didn't find. After a moment, he glanced up toward the hooks hanging around them, and tilted his head back down to her.

"Where is your brother, Isabelle?"

She bared her teeth like an animal and hissed, "Fuck you."

To that the demon chuckled, "If you're lucky, you still can. _However,_ " he stroked his thumb across the line of her jaw where he'd bruised her. "Business before pleasure."

Clary watched as Jonathan stepped back just enough to reach for one of the hooks, still holding Isabelle tightly in his fist. He gave her a momentary smile, then pushed the hook up into the skin below her collarbone, grinning when she cried out.

"No!" Clary screamed, and threw herself forward, finally able to move again. She meant to hit the bastard, but he spun too fast to follow and caught Clary before she could do anything. Arching a brow, he walked her back against the stone wall opposite her friend and slammed her against it.

"Don't be difficult," he said slowly, slamming her back against the wall again when she struggled. " _You_ followed us down here. Now be quiet or I'll gag you."

She narrowed her eyes and before she knew what she was doing, she'd punched him right across the jaw. The demon had the decency to look shocked at first, then he laughed and took her wrists, dragging her toward the table beside Isabelle. While Clary fought to get her hands free, he grabbed a length of rope and quickly wound it around her wrists. When he'd finished, he tied the loose end to the table's leg and shoved her onto the floor.

"Stop it," she begged. "Don't hurt her."  
Jonathan shook his head, moving back to Isabelle and grabbing another hook.   
"She knows how to make me stop, _don't you,_ Izzy?"

Izzy only glared at him, breathing heavily. The hook he'd forced into her was already caught around the edge of her collarbone, peeking out the other side sickeningly. Blood had begun to trail in a lazy path down her shirt, but she didn't speak. Isabelle was too strong for that.

Clary was forced to watch, sobbing along with her friends agonized cries, as one after another Jonathan forced the hooks under her collarbones. Three on each side. When he'd finished, Isabelle was sobbing too, fighting to hold herself up on her toes and put as little pressure on the hooks as she could manage.

"There's really no need to be so stubborn." He stepped back a moment to admire his handiwork, trailing a finger along the line of hooks. She winced each time his fingertip clipped one of the metal protrusions. "Won't you just tell me?"

In reply, though she had tears running down her face, Izzy glared at him and spat at the ground. Jonathan watched this dispassionately, then sighed reaching to grab the pulley connected to the cross bar above her. With little more than a smirk, he jerked it down and the bar rose, jerking the cables with it and lifting Isabelle off her feet.

She screamed so loud Clary thought her ears might bleed. The demon only watched, head tilted curiously as his victim dangled, the weight of her body held by only those bones. After a moment, her struggling grew too much, and with a sound like snapping carrots, her collarbones broke.

"Stop!" Clary screamed, fighting her urge to vomit. It was hard to hear her over Izzy's wailing, but Jonathan turned anyway.

"Please!" She continued desperately. "I'll do anything, just stop."

He released the rope, letting Izzy slump back to the floor and reached out to cover her mouth. She was too weak to pull away, so his attention stayed on Clary.

"Anything?" he asked, his smile quirking to one side. "You should be careful what you promise me, Clarissa, I will not hesitate to act on such a bargain."

"Then do it!" Clary cried, struggling to stand back up and speak to him levelly, "I don't care. Leave her alone and I will do anything you ask, I promise. Just… _please_ ," she felt sick even saying it. "Let her go and you can _have_ me."

He arched a brow at that, watching her a long moment, then glanced back at Isabelle. "Do you hear this, Izzy?" He reached out to lift her face roughly, "It's a charming offer, you must agree."

Jonathan released Izzy and moved forward, taking Clary by the throat and pulling her toward him as far as her restraints would allow.

"The truth is, Clarissa, your body isn't worth the repercussions of defying our father. He might lock me up for letting this one slip away for such a petty prize, and I can't have that." When her head fell forward in despair, he lifted her up onto her toes by her throat and smiled like the Devil himself.

"Make no mistake, I'll _have_ you, but not for this." He chuckled and released her to fall to her knees coughing, "However, I would love it if you watched."

And that's what she did. After he'd gagged her to stop the distraction of her cursing him, of course. Jonathan even spoke to her as he tortured Izzy. He told her about the things he was doing and how Isabelle must be suffering, and she screamed bloody murder to prive it. It lasted for three hours, and when Valentine finally returned it was to a pale half dead girl and his nearly comatose daughter.

Isabelle never told them where Alec was hiding though. Not even when Valentine got angry and started in on her himself. No.  
She was much too strong for that.


	5. And Then Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this gets very uncomfortable for some. If non con offends you, this is the place to stop.

**The child born with this blood in him will exceed the power of the Greater Demons of the abysses between worlds. But it will burn out his humanity, as poison burns the life from the blood.**

**\- City of Fallen Angels--**

Clary was startled into awareness when a great chime echoed out from the grandfather clock pressed up against the library wall. Shaking her vision back into focus she found herself on the couch at the center of the library, an open book she had pulled at random off the shelf sitting on the small table in front of her. She vaguely remembered shuffling in here, her movements stiff like that of a zombie. She'd come to the library because it was the only room in the house that seemed sealed away from sound.

In here, she couldn't hear Isabelle screaming.

Valentine had ignored her at first. He'd set in on Izzy wringing every scream and agonized sob he could from her, ignoring his daughter's own bawling. It hadn't been for several hours, when it had become clear that Isabelle wouldn't betray the others no matter what was done to her, when Valentine had gotten irritated and ordered Jonathan to unbind Clary. He'd claimed to be sick of the pathetic sight she made, ashamed that something so weak could have possibly come from him. Her brother had cut her loose quickly but hadn't followed her back up to the house as she'd expected. He remained with Valentine to attempt again to get the information they wanted from Isabelle.

Clary had wondered into the library then in a state of shock, unable to speak or even cry anymore as she passed a bookshelf and grabbed one of the thousands tomes, settling down onto the couch. A voice deep inside her murmured that comfort would come with the familiar, and she'd tried to read, but found herself scanning over the same sentence again and again without it making any kind of sense and had eventually given up. After that her eyes had wandered to the blazing fire in its great hearth and she had slipped into what some might have even described as a catatonic state of shock. Eyes blank and wide, mouth slightly agape, body still save the fine tremble that danced through her frame.

Now, looking at the clock, Clary realized she had been sitting in this same spot starring into the fire for 3 hours. She knew she was doing it because of Izzy, because she felt so sick with grief and horror that she hadn't even been able to process it. She'd simply slipped away into empty nothingness and lost herself there. Part of her wondered if this might become a skill she could utilize. After all, if she were comatose as her mother had been, Valentine would have little use for her and Jonathan would move on.

"There you are." The voice made her stiffen, bile rising up in her throat like acid. She didn't move to turn, but felt him behind her like a great, vacuous presence. A black hole that leeched away the joy and hope that she was slowly forgetting how to feel anyway.

Jonathan leaned over the back of the couch, his arms slipping down to encircle her shoulders and draw her back toward him. She went rigid at his touch and started at the sight of the blood that stained his long sleeves up to his elbows. Isabelle's blood.

"Our father wishes to speak with you, little sister." He spoke into her hair, chucking when she remained stiff as a board. "But I think he can wait a while longer, he's still busy with the Lightwood girl." He gave a low whistle. "She's tougher than I imagined, I'll give her that. But even Valentine needs to sleep. He's not as resilient as I am these days." 

"I can't believe I'm saying this Clary, but it looks like you're finally getting your chance to be of use to this household." He grinned, tilting his head, "Valentine is even going to give you back your steele. For good if you do well."

"Why would he do that?" she asked, still feeling dazed. Jonathan reached around to grasp her chin, forcing her to turn and look up at him, his expression cold as always.

"Why, sweet sister, we have exhausted our options with Isabelle. Short of bringing in my special toys, which stand the chance of crippling her beyond the ability of speech, we have you. Your ability to create runes." He grinned, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against hers and sending a shudder of revulsion shooting down into her gut. "Valentine has a few suggestions you might try out first."

"Get away from me." Clary snapped, slapping away his hands and forcing him to step back. She leveled her eyes with his over the back of the couch and made sure that her tone spoke of the hatred and disgust she felt for her family right then. "I will not help you hurt Izzy. If Valentine thinks he can get me to-"

Jonathan stepped suddenly around the side of the couch to stand in front of her. He wasn't smiling and the flat, serious look on his face made her words trail off into nothing. She flinched back when he bent at the waist to lean toward her. Her legs were curled up under her on the seat and she was pressed into the back of the couch when he placed a hand on either side of her. He wasn't touching her, but she was trapped and the feeling was just as bad. 

"Listen to me closely Clarissa." He spoke in an even tone that somehow seemed more threatening for its calmness. "Our father has spent the night with this girl, and she has been a wonderful example of love and the strength of women and all that, but it's time to finish this."

"Was that supposed to convince me?" Clary asked scornfully, trying to play tough though she was trembling caught between him and the couch.

Jonathan sighed and leaned in closer, his hand whipping out to grasp her around the throat again and force her to look up at him. "Then think of it this way, Clary. If you go down there and create a rune that say…makes her tell the truth, then this will be over and she will no longer suffer. If you don't, our father will torture her until she is useless or dead." He smiled then, and tilted his head. "You do understand that we don't _need_ her, right? That we don't have to keep her alive? Sure, father wants the Lightwood children found, but only because he thinks they plot against him. He thinks that if left alone they will one day rise to strike him down. Paranoid fellow, that one. The point is Clary, you can save her life. She might not have a good one, but she won't be dead, and if you're quick, she'll have all her pieces too."

The cold empty pit returned to Clary's stomach now and she nodded mutely, relieved that doing so made Jonathan move away. He made a good point, the bastard. If she could create something, anything that might save Izzy, she had to try and it had to be quickly. She would get no better chance than this.

She let Jonathan take her down into the cellars again, running to keep up with his long stridden pace. She felt her gut clench as they came to Izzy's room and flinched back from the horrible sound that echoed out from the doorway. Jonathan grabbed her by the shoulder, shoving her into the room.

Isabelle was no longer on the rack of hooks. She'd been placed on one of the many tables, strapped down by thick leather across her wrists and ankles. It looked like the kind of thing one might find in an old asylum, rusted and metal and horrid to look at with all the reflected blood pooling around her. Christ, Clary couldn't imagine how Izzy was even still alive with all that blood. Valentine had not been gentle with her either. Her clothes were soaked through with blood, torn open here and there where he'd decided to start cutting into her. There were long, deep gashes lining her ribs, as if he'd tried to cut them out. A patch of blackened flesh oozed across her shoulder and the side of her neck where she had been burned. Clary couldn't see clearly, but it seemed that she might have even been missing a finger and that made the world spin a moment before she grounded herself.

Valentine did not waste time. When he saw Clary, he gave her only enough time to absorb what had become her of her friend before striding over and grabbing her by the shoulders to walk her up beside the metal gurney table. Jonathan moved with them, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall to their left to watch.

"You understand what I want from you?" Valentine asked.

"You want me to hurt her." Clary mumbled. Izzy was awake it seemed and looking up at her through the one eyes that wasn't swollen shut.

"I want answers, Clarissa. No more stalling." He suddenly smiled and she was repulsed by how much of that smile reminded her of Jonathan. He was his father's son after all. "My men have captured a good number of her friends out in the trees. Some managed to flee, but we have enough to get answers. If this girl won't tell me the things I want to know, then someone in her troup will."

"Then why even bother with her?" Clary took a step back away from the table and motioned toward the door. "Why not just go to the others."

Valentine sighed, straightening himself to his full and menacing height and fixed his daughter with a stare that froze her in her tracks. "I will get to them shortly. Right now Clarissa, I would like to see this gift of yours put to use. Prove to me that you are not completely worthless." She could only stand there as Valentine drew a steele from his belt and held it aloft, arching a quizzical brow when she didn't take it. "You will earn your keep here somehow Clarissa. This is how you start."

Her father grabbed her wrist and dragged her back to the table, wrapping her fingers tightly around the steele. He pointed the crystal end at Isabelle keeping his bone-crushing grip on Clary's wrist and stared at her.

"Well? I want her to speak the truth Clarissa. I don't even mind if you force her to speak through confusion rather than pain, but she will talk and you will stop stalling."

"I don't know how-"

Clary shouted out in surprise when he slapped her, clutching her cheek, and Valentine pointed to the beaten and horrified Izzy.

"Do it Clarissa."

Clary stared down at Isabelle wishing for anything that this had never happened. That Jace had never been foolish enough to go off alone, that Izzy and Magnus and Alec had never been forced to disappear for fear of Valentine, that Simon hadn't been kept in one of these ghastly rooms for months. She wished that she didn't have to see that horrible look of betrayal in Izzy's eyes then, the sickness. Why? They asked, Why won't you help me?

That's when she felt it. Clary sucked in a breath and felt the tingling of warmth and power drift through her, down her arm to the tips of her fingers, then out of the steele. Slowly she was etching out a curving of lines. They swept between one another, looping and twirling until finally meeting in the middle as a single connected pattern. The rune glowed just a moment as it sank into her skin and its purpose enacted.

Isabelle, who had been watching in terror, suddenly let out a long sigh, her tensed body going limp and relaxed on the table despite her many wounds. She closed her eyes a moment and simply laid there while Valentine stepped forward, gripping the side of the table in anticipation. Perhaps he thought she would just begin spouting all the secrets he'd yearned for. Jonathan uncrossed his arms and now watched curiously until Izzy's good eye popped open again and fell on Clary. Her mouth opened, bobbing a moment and releasing a pitiful whispering croak. She paused, swallowing and Clary leaned closer, wondering if her gift had worked. If she'd just saved her friend. It was confirmed when Izzy managed to get out two short words.

"Thank you."

"What was it?" Jonathan asked impatiently, "What did you do?"

Clary smiled then, turning to her father and looking him dead in the eyes. "I took away her pain. She'll be at peace until she is released or killed, either way, you cannot hurt her anymore." Then she leaned forward and up onto her toes to stare for once down at her father, at least as best she could from his bent position over the gurney table. "Is that useful enough for you daddy?"

At first she thought he would hit her again. His face certainly seemed to twist in rage and his fists, resting on the table, went white from his grip. He did not strike her though, despite what he might have wanted. Instead, Valentine smiled very tightly to his son and stood straight.

"Take away her steele, she won't be needing one again. I must see to our other guests, it seems there is much work to be done."  
Clary watched her father move to the door feeling lost and a little frightened by his lack of retaliation. When he got to the door however, he paused.

"And Jonathan, I'm leaving you to decide how much she deserves. The optimist in me believes you might get her to apologize, but I can live with her regret for now."

With that he left them and Jonathan strode forward to slip the steele from her fingers before she had even turned to look at him. The demon boy was smiling to himself, perversely happy, though Clary didn't understand what had just happened. Hadn't she just openly defied her father, in front of his son no less, and the enemy. Why had he not attacked her? Why hadn't he at least yelled?

Jonathan slipped her steele into his tall, black boots and grabbed her wrist. She winced at the contact, still sore from her father's grip, but he ignored it. Without so much as a word -which further put her on edge being that this was Jonathan who loved gloating- he pulled her from the room and the still smiling Izzy who had finally fallen asleep.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling against him all the way down the hall. It did nothing to stop their progress. Jonathan was checking doors as he dragged her along. He peeked through the small cell windows and dismissed the ones that were taken as quick as he could, eager to find a place for them to be alone. Clary hadn't realized until now how many prisoners her father kept. When had they gotten so many? How had she not even noticed? Had she really become that withdrawn to have missed it all?

"Finally," Jonathan grinned, pushing open a door into one of the rooms and jerking her in with him. He slung her around into the room before sge could get a look at it, sending her stumbling back. When he closed the door behind her, they were lost in darkness.

"Jonathan?" She spoke softly into the damp, cold blackness around her, hearing only the softest rustling of his clothes as he moved. He could see her, she knew it, even without the light. His eyes were different than hers, enhanced by Valentine's experiments. "What are we doing here?"

"Well darling sister." His voice made her jump when it came from directly in front of her. "You've been bad. I'm here to punish you."

Clary screamed when the demon rushed forward, forcing her back against the wall behind her, his hand coming down over her mouth to quiet her. With a whispered word the witchlight torches sprung to life around them and he smiled down at her a moment.

"I'd give you a spanking Clary, but something tells me Valentine will require something a little more impressive."

She clawed at his hand until he released her mouth with a chuckle and arched an expectant eyebrow. "What are you going to do?"

To that the demon laughed and pulled away from her, moving to a table up against the wall. This room was fashioned much like the one that Izzy was locked in. There were damp stone walls, tables of wicked looking tools and constructions of torture she had no desire to explore further. Jonathan however did not grab any of the horrible blades and pliers. Instead he lifted a simple length of rope and turned back to her.

Clary didn't bother asking anymore questions, she just ran. It took her brother only a moment to catch her and drag her back away from the door with more laughter. Her wrists were swiftly and tightly bound together in front of her despite her struggling. Jonathan might as well have been fighting a child because even if she hadn't been small and underfed, he was still so much stronger than she could ever hope to be. Jonathan pulled Clary to the center of the room and tossed the loose end of the rope above them through a metal ring that had been bolted into the ceiling. Wrapping the rope around his forearm so that she couldn't wrench it away from him, he pulled it taught until her arms were forced above her head and she was dangling there on her toes. The rope was then secured to another metal ring on the wall and the demon turned to inspect his work.

"I'm going to whip you now." He said this so plainly, as if they were discussing the weather and Clary's chest constricted in fear, her body trembling. "Perhaps the next time our father asks you to do something for him, you will listen." He chuckled then, "This is what happens when you're naughty, Clarissa."

She scoffed at that, watching him as he moved back to the table and rooted through the tools to find a worn length of leather. As it uncoiled she realized it was a whip and closed her eyes a moment in prayer, though she didn't know who might listen to her. He moved up behind her, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"You hold to this tightly now, Clarissa." He wrapped his fingers around her bound hands, closing them around the cord of rope. She whimpered softly then as he drew away and she heard the whip hit the floor with a soft thump. It sounded so innocent, so harmless, until suddenly it cracked through the air, snapping down across her back like fire.

Clary let out a scream, but it was cut short with the next snap of the whip, her breath forced out of her in a pained exhale. When she managed to draw air back into her lungs, the sound was laced with a sob, and Jonathan only laughed.

"Don't be melodramatic. That was only two."

"Don't." She gasped when she heard him raise the whip again, but it cracked loudly through the room like thunder and she let out another scream.

Again and again he struck her, and she had never imagined such a thing could be so utterly agonizing. Her back was on fire, throbbing in pain, and each strike of the whip felt as if it was splitting her open. Clary was openly sobbing now, screaming and thrashing though it gained her nothing. Jonathan was merciless. Grinning in his twisted horrid way. Laughing as she pleaded with him unintelligibly through sobs. He didn't stop until the door to the cell opened and Valentine gazed in at them from the doorway. Jonathan wound the whip around his arm, almost nervously, waiting for his father's reaction as the heartless man gazed at his red-faced, weeping daughter without expression. Without a single fuck to give. After a long moment, he looked at Jonathan, nodded and closed the door behind him moving on to his next victim. Apparently his son's work had been approved.

Clary screamed in surprise and pain when the whip cracked across her back again, going limp because she was unable to thrash any longer. Her arms ached from their strained position, and her back was a giant sheet of pain so intense it was curling her stomach. Her skin was sheened in sweat, pale as paper. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go to sleep. She could already feel the warm wetness of blood dripping down her back, and feared what she would look like once this was over. Was she a horrible mess of scars now? At the thought of this her sobbing grew and she closed her eyes tightly to ready herself for the next lash. It didn't come. The room was quiet a long time save her soft sobbing, and the soft rustling of his clothes behind her. She hated not being able to see him. The silence stretched on and she let her head hang down between her aching arms with a whimper of pain.

"Would you like me to stop Clarissa?" His voice had an oily quality, a feigned amiability. At the moment, she didn't care.

"Yes…Yes, please stop," she sobbed. Behind her, Jonathan moved closer and she felt the smooth edge of the wooden handle slide down her side.

"You know me, I won't do something for nothing. What will you give me?"

"Jonathan please, just let me down." Her head was still hanging so he stepped around to lift her chin with the end of the whip and smiled like the devil.

"Why would I do that? If I'm going to let you down and risk our father's anger it will be for more than your begging. What would that say about me?"

"What is it?" Clary demanded then, exhausted and aching no matter how she moved in her restraints. "What do you want?"

Jonathan's smile grew a touch malicious and he leaned forward. Keeping her head up with the whip along the bottom of her jaw, he brushed his lips across her cheek.  
"Offer me anything, like you did before. Promise me that you will not fight. That you won't run away. Offer me that and I'll let you down." He tilted his head and met her eyes, his own black and pitiless. "Don't, and I'll continue with this whipping until I tire myself out, and that won't come for hours yet." He forced her head up a little more, eyes blazing with cruelty and malice. "I can hit you harder you know. If I wanted, I could cleave you to the bone with every swing."

Clarissa was quiet a long moment absorbing this. She jerked her head away from the whip handle so she didn't have to look at him anymore. She knew what he was really asking, what he really wanted her to do. He'd probably been thinking of a way to get it out of her again since she blurted it out in Izzy's cell. It had been stupid to put such a disgusting thing into his head. Apparently he was willing to resort to torture.

"Come on, Clary, you were willing to do it to save Isabelle. What about yourself?"

"What about Valentine?" She asked it weakly. She already knew it was useless.

"He will be busy for hours yet. You know that."

Her voice broke as she labored to speak, "I can't…You know it's-"

" _You_ know I was completely serious. You can make me a promise here and now, or I can whip you bloody…well _bloodier_. This shirt of yours is ruined, I'm afraid, so...What's it going to be?" His voice dropped down an octave and he leaned closer. "Do you see _that_?" he asked, pointing to the wall of pegged tools of torture. "I'm using it next."

Stretched neatly between two pegs was another whip, though Clary didn't recognize it. It had multiple short tails rather than the one, and each was tipped with a shining, silver barb. The barbs held her rapt attention. They were weighted, tiny metal balls twice the size of BBs, and curved wickedly at the tip. A rush of cold swept down her body as if she'd been hit by a bucket of icy water. Jonathan paused, looking over her face and laughed.

"It's true. People can turn completely white with fear." His smile melted away completely and his dark eyes blazed black fire. "Cat-O-Nine-Tails it is then, since you seem so taken with it."

He moved to the table without another word and set down his whip. Clary began to struggle again, hopelessly tugging at the ropes around her wrists. When he reached for the Nine-Tails her heart began to pound so forcefully in her chest that it was painful. Beating against her ribs as if it were trying to escape too.

"Wait!" she cried watching him test the uncoiled tails with a quick snap of his wrist. They whistled through the air and when the barbed ends crashed against the table, she saw bits of the wood fly off to the stone floor. The demon's eyes snapped to her, resolute and cold, and Clary felt as if she were drowning in her terror. He really meant to do it! He was really going to hit her with that _thing_!

" _Don't, please_!"As Jonathan moved behind her and raised the whip her body tensed painfully in fear and she let out a strangled cry, words tumbling blindly from her lips before she could stop them.

"I promise!" she cried frantically, "I won't run, I'll listen, just _please,_ " her voice cracked again. "Don't hit me with that **thing**!"

For a moment there was only silence, and Clary hung there willing her heart to stop pounding, for her lungs to take the air she needed, but it was impossible with him standing behind her so quietly. Silence from Jonathan was more frightening than his threats. She flinched when she heard the nine-tails hit the metal table. Jonthan was in front of her in a flash. He searched her face a moment, then pulled a folding knife from his belt. In one quick slash he'd severed the rope above her, leaving her wrists bound together. Without the rope's support, her knees buckled and she crumbled into his arms with a groan. They stood there a moment as she tried to find ways to move that didn't set her back and shoulders on fire.

Jonathan utterly surprised her then. With a soft sigh at her patheticness, he put his blade away and slipped an arm behind her knees. He carried her like a bride to one of the metal gurney tables, hushing her as she squirmed from the pain agaist her back, and sitting her gently on the edge. After that he pulled out his steele.

"What are you doing?" She asked skeptically before she saw what he was carving into her forearm. Rather than symbols for pain, as her panic assured, they were ruins for healing. She didn't thank him, she couldn't bring herself to do that, but she nodded at least and they lapsed into silence again. After a moment, when she was no longer hissing in pain with every movement, Jonathan leaned forward, bracing himself on the table with a hand on either side of her.

" _Well_?" The moment of tenderness was officially over.

"In here?" She asked leaning back away from him. "Right now?"

"Is there somewhere else you would like me to fuck you?"

Tightness gripped her chest and her mouth hung open in shock at his blunt question. She knew he was doing it on purpose because it made her so uncomfortable, but that didnt stop it from...well making her fucking uncomfortable. 

"No," she snapped. No, she could not imagine a single place where she wanted him to do this to her, nor did she want this at all. She'd promised though, and breaking this promise would mean torture in a very real sense. Was this not also torturous though? Wouldn't this leave her with more scars? She knew it would, but another voice at the back of her head was speaking beneath her panic. It was a quiet voice, sickly and dripping with fear, a voice that only cared for self-preservation.

 _Let him_ , it said. _Give him his way, let it be over with. He grows bored with things so quickly, and you are what he couldn't have. Give him what he wants and he'll grow bored with you too._

Clary hoped this was true, because she couldn't imagine doing what she was about to ever again. In fact, she couldn't really imagine doing it now. Jonathan, however, was growing impatient and his fingers found their way around her throat, a place they seemed to favor, and he lifted her face to search her eyes so closely he seemed to look right through her.

"So?" he asked, tilting his head when she sucked in a shuttering gasp, "Will you make the first move, or should I?"

"Untie my hands."

"No." He said it with a smile. This was more cruelty, more teasing. Apparently he didn't mind if she was uncomfortable, he was aiming to make her that way. "I don't trust you yet."

"Then let me earn it. Untie them and I'll prove-" He saw through her easily enough and spoke over the lies.

"You can prove yourself through obedience," he said with a mocking smile and nodded to her shirt. "Unbutton your blouse."

"Jonathan…" Clary began softly, pathetically.

" _Clary_ ," he countered, meeting her eyes firmly, "Do as you're told."

For a moment she only sat there, tears welling in her eyes again. With a soft, little sob she moved her trembling fingers to the first button of her blouse, pulling it open. He didn't speak as she did this, simply stood there leaning toward her, black eyes following her progress. Halfway through, the ropes and awkward position of her wrists made her stop, but Jonathan was not discouraged. He gently moved her hands aside and slipped his finger around the next button, popping it free, then the next. When her blouse had been unbuttoned, he trailed his fingers up the pale strip of exposed flesh and she went rigidly stiff, unable to do anything but watch him with wide eyes. The room was silent but for their breathing, and hers was picking up speed as her fear mounted. Jonathan ignored this and instead, pulled the two sides of her shirt open, tugging at the material and tearing it like paper in one go from her torso. Clary let slip another fearful whimper when his hands settled on her waist and he lifted her back to her feet in front of him. With the gurney digging into her back and the demon trapping her in place, Clary felt like a caged animal. She wondered how much more she could take. Already she was fighting with herself not to attack him in blind panic and try to run, knowing she couldn't get passed him even if she pushed with all her strength. Even so where would she run? Where _could_ she run? When Jonathan grabbed the front of her jeans, the panic slipped into control and Clary jerked back violently away from him, making the gurney bash loudly against the stone wall. The sound echoed threateningly around them in the otherwise silence and Jonathan caught her before she could begin to flee him. Rather than cursing her as she'd expected, the demon laughed.

"You act as if I'm going to eat you alive," he said, pulling the button of her jeans free and unzipping them with a deft tug. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you, Clary?"

"I don't know." She managed to reply softly, her voice choked by the tears she was fighting to keep back.

"You don't know." He repeated it slowly, and as he spoke he was pulling the denim from her legs to toss it on the floor beside them. "But you assume I'm going to _hurt_ you?"

"I don't know." She mumbled again, at a loss for words. Her mind was racing, her emotions ripping wildly through her almost too quickly to identify. Jonathan, seeming to enjoy this fear-induced state she was in, continued.

"Do you think I've never known a woman? I'm different, yes, but I am still a man Clarissa." He leaned forward to draw the lobe of her ear between his teeth, making her suck in another soft gasp. One hand rested beside her on the gurney, while the other trailed up along her thigh. This time he spoke softly against her ear as he nibbled around the cusp, his warm breath sending chills dancing across her skin.

"Is it that you don't think I know how to please you?" he asked and his voice had gotten deeper again, more of a purr than anything. "You think that because I am so adept at causing pain, pleasure would escape me?"

"No, Jonathan I-"

"You're wrong." He said, bending his head to graze his teeth along the column of her throat. His fingers brushed the soft cotton between her legs and Clary went into another spasm of panic, though Jonathan was ready and held her easily in place with a laugh. "Valentine expected me to excel at all aspects of my life, inckuding social. It is simply my way to succeed. I suppose I'll have to prove my skill to you though."

"Jonathan!" Clary cried out when he suddenly grabbed the back of her knee and jerked her forward. Without her arms to steady her, she fell backward into the arm he had ready and was lowered onto the gurney. He grabbed the sides of the table and turned it against the wall so that it jutted out and she took the moment of freedom to scramble up and push herself back against the cold stone. He watched this all in amusement and climbed onto the gurney at its farthest end, letting her panic and press back into the wall more frantically as he crawled up to meet her.

Forgetting her promise, Clary lost it again and rolled to the side, meaning to dash for the door before he could grab her. Jonathan, laughing as if they were only playing, wrapped his arm around her waist and slung her onto her back again, climbing on top of her and pinning her bound wrists above her head.

"Where are you going?" he asked with a grin, "We've only just started."

"Wait," she began, shaking her head and trying to tug her wrists from his planted hand. It was like fighting a steel statue, he was immovable.

"No more waiting," he sighed and leaned down to flick his tongue across the line of her collarbone, kissing it softly after. "Aren't you tired of the suspense? Don't you just want it all to be _over_?"

"I don't _want it_ **period** you fucking psycho!"

Clary hadn't meant to say it out loud, and she regretted the words immediately when Jonathan's black eyes snapped back to hers and narrowed. He burst into movement without missing a beat, taking the short extra length of rope that hung loose from her bound wrists and tying it to the support bar on the gurney above her head. With her arms secured, he sat back on his knees above her and pulled the knife from his belt.

"I'm sorry!" she cried immediately, eyes bulging in fear. Would he really cut into her? "Wait, I'll be good, I'm sorry!"

Jonathan scoffed at this and instead brought the knife to the connecting cord of cloth that held her bra together in front. With one sharp tug he cut through the material and her bra fell open. Clary sucked in a breath of embarrassment as he tore away the rest of the cloth and tossed it away with her jeans.

For a long moment there was silent stillness in the room. Clary was frozen and Jonathan seemed entranced by the sight of her nearly naked. With a soft sound she couldn't translate, he leaned down over her, though she was very aware of the knife he held tightly in the hand that was braced beside her head. The demon didn't hurt her though. Instead he kissed her collarbone, then lower, planting each kiss sweetly after a sharp nip of his teeth. When he made it to her nipple Clary flinched away from the contact, but had nowhere to go. Jonathan met her eyes then, smiling over the dark pink flesh as he swirled his tongue around it and drew it into his mouth, closing his teeth just tightly enough that it made her gasp. He seemed to like it when she made that sound.

He smiled as he sat back up and grabbed the back of his collar, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it beside them. Already stunned into silence, she could only stare at him and his own near nakedness. Clary had never seen Jonathan unclothed before, truthfully she had imagined that beneath his clothes his flesh was black and slimy, or covered in scales. She had always imagined that at least some part of him was demon, that he couldn't possibly be attractive everywhere, but she was wrong. Beneath his black shirt was smooth, taut skin and an expanse of lean muscle that on any other person might have given her cause to drool. He was a testament to his profession. Hard and toned, and like all Shadowhunters his chest and arms were a lacework of ruin scars, as if they had been carved there in some tribal ritual. They melded with other scars, from battles no doubt, and for just a moment Clary was tempted to reach up and touch them. One look up at Jonathan's heated expression and she was snapped back into reality.

Jonathan grabbed the back of her knee and lifted it to bend her leg up against her chest, keeping it there with his body when he leaned down over her. His hand then trailed slowly down the back of her thigh and found the cotton that was her only remaining bit of clothing.

"You don't have to be afraid of this, Clarissa." His assurance was nullified by the blade he was moving between her legs. She tried to thrash away from him, but he kept her tightly pinned, and the leg he had bent over his shoulder assured that she could not even close her legs. "I'm not going to cut you, but if you don't stop struggling I might accidently."

"Put it away," she implored breathlessly. "You don't need that thing. Please, just put it away."

"Calm down," he laughed and she felt the cold steel of the knife slip under the cotton of her panties, brushing her sex. Clary let out a strangled scream, but Jonathan muffled it with his hand, jerking the blade to cut away her underwear.

"I'm done with it, alright? I'm putting it away."

Her eyes were fierce and locked on him now, but Jonathan's attention was quickly moving to her naked body. She was utterly exposed to him and couldn't even cover herself with her hands. Thise were stretched up above her head si that she was stretched out beneath him like a model in a lewd magazine. The demon's eyes danced across her skin, leaning back to inspect her fully. The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked little smile that made her want to melt into the floor to escape him. She coukd have died in that moment and been perfectly happy. 

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

She turned her head to the side, looking away from him and stared at the far wall, covered in tools of torture. He had to be joking if he was trying to charm her now. "Don't Jonathan."

"Don't compliment you?" He laughed without humor. "Someone has to. _Listen_ to me." When she refused, he grabbed her chin and turned her to face him, searching her eyes intently. "Do you think I don't notice how depressed you are? How Lonely? You walk through a room and I can practically feel the cold leaking out of you." She tried to jerk out of his hold, snapping her teeth at his hand, but he only gave her a soft smack on the cheek and grabbed her again.

"You've shut off Clarissa. You lock yourself in your room, you rarely eat. Even Valentine has commented on how you're letting yourself waste away. He thinks you're trying to starve yourself, either for his attention or because you can't handle it anymore. Frankly, I think he's an idiot. You don't want to die. He doesn't understand you."

"And _you_ do?" She spat incredulously.

Jonathan met her gaze levelly, and gave a slow nod. "You're lonely. Isolated. You think you are surrounded by enemies, people who want to hurt you, but you're wrong. You may not be his favorite person, but he doesn't want you dead, Clary. Our father isn't quite as heartless as you believe."

"He hates me." She countered, "He told me so himself. He blames me for my mother leaving him. He blames me for her dying in the last battle, rather than spending her days with him."

"And _our_ mother was repulsed by me from the moment I was born. She hates me because of what Valentine made me. Get over it. I did."

Clary paused, mouth open, but she couldn't think of a way to respond to that. It was true, Jocelyn hated Jonathan for something he had no way of preventing. Because of their father's horrible experiments, Jonathan was born with a mother who refused to love him, who couldn't even bring herself to _touch_ him. She couldn't even imagine what that would have felt like, having her mother look at her and knowing that she was disgusted by the very sight of her. How horrible would that have been? Was it any wonder he had become the person he was today? Knowing that he would never be loved by his parents, how could anyone survive that with grace? She must have spoken her temporary pity through her expression because suddenly Jonathan cleared his throat. 

"The point is that you need comfort. You need someone to touch you and hold you and tell you that they can keep you safe."

"What makes you qualified for that?" she demanded, pity replaced by anger. Anger that he was right at all, and that he assumed she would accept comfort of any kind from him. Rather than looking hurt or angered by this, Jonathan smiled, shaking his head as if she'd said something adorably foolish.   
"Because I am the strongest person you know. Not even Valentine could keep me from doing what I truly wanted. There is not a single person out there that can keep you safe the way I can."

Clary stared up at him in sadness and again pity and just a bit of shock. Was he so deluded that he thought _this_ was protecting her?   
"You just whipped the skin off my back and now you've tied me down and cut off my clothes to rape me. How am I _safe_ with you Jonathan?"

For the first time, Clary witnessed him at a loss for words. Jonathan sat there, starring down at her a long moment, looking almost confused. After a long silence however he leaned back down over her, kissing her before she could anticipate it. When he pulled back, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her head.   
"I have no intention of raping you, Clarissa."  
"Then what is this exactly?"  
He sighed softly above her and leaned down to her ear. This time when he pulled the lobe between his teeth she didn't react, so he bit her neck instead. It surprised her and she unintentionally arched up. This pressed their bodies together and Jonathan used this distraction to move his little bites to the leg he kept bent up over his shoulder.

"This is me proving that you'll like it just as much as I do." He murmured against her thigh, nipping the sensitive flesh there and making his way between her legs. Clary tugged at her wrists, forgetting a moment that she was still tied down. The rope went taught and the gurney's support bars creaked in protest.   
"Are you...you're crazy...you..." But he wasn't listening to her. Unable to flee, she could only watch as the demon slowly nibbled his way to her mound. His black eyes snapped up to hers then as he kissed it, smirking at the way it made a shiver pass up her spine and her thigh tremble with the strain of keeping still beside him. Surely kneeing him right in the face would get her personal time with that terrifying, barbed whip. She was trying very hard not to risk it. Then of course, there was the simple fact that Jonathan was touching her _there_ and she didn't know how to process that or how to handle it, so she just watched him with eyes that must have been big as dinner plates. She realized now that might have been part of why he'd been laughing. 

Despite her feelings for him, Jace and Clary never slept together. They'd never really been given the chance. She had never been touched there by a man, much less kissed, and now he was nudging her other leg wider and dipping down his head, all the while his eyes were locked with hers. He was watching her react to his touch and the sharp scrutiny made it all the more overwhelming. Jonathan's lips moved lower and suddenly his tongue slipped up between her labia. The sensation was so foreign, Clary didn't know what to do with herself. She panicked more at the realisation of what he was doing to her, than the sensation itself. It wasn't in the least painful, it was just different, strange, and intense in the context of their situation. Even if it had felt good, she was too shocked to notice. His tongue passed over her again and her hips twitched. She blinked down in question and watched him smile against her sex. He licked her once more, but paused on her clit to suck it in between his lips. She jerked at that and Jonathan tickled her with a chuckle as he continued to suck at her. Clary let out a soft cry, but it was strangled by the shock and strange tickle that came from the pressure of his lips. She frowned, shaking her head as the tickle steadily grew in intensity and she shifted her hips to avoid him. Jonathan however was quick to hold her still, trapping her hips against the gurney and going back to his work. He sucked harder at her clit, pausing to flick at it with his tongue before he'd pull it back between his lips again. After only a few moments of this there was a strange buzz humming just under her skin and heat followed slowly after. She felt it wash across her skin as the building pressure in the pit of her stomach hummed for attention. 

"Stop Jonathan, sto- _aahhh_!" Her words became a cry when she felt his teeth. He didn't bite her thank god, but the pressure, even light, around her clit forced her spine to arch and her body to tremble so forcefully he had to tighten his grip on her to keep her still. The demon grinned and lifted his head to look at her once she'd calmed down enough to lie flat again. Her breath was coming in shallow pulls, quick and soft. When he bite her in the fleshy part of her inner thigh, it rattled out of her along with a high pitched squeak. 

"Wow. You liked that, didn't you?" She wanted to say no, but couldn't bring herself to actually speak the word. She couldn't bring herself to comment on what was currently happening because she was fairly certain he had succeeded in turning her on and that was horrifying and shocking and confusing and a thousand other things she couldn't name. It was all too much. 

Jonathan tilted his head down, still grinning like the devil, and drew his tongue between her thighs again. Clary sucked in a gasp, jerking at her wrists and making the metal bang loudly. He ignored this and began to tease her, dipping his tongue into her, drawing it along her slit, catching her clit between his lips or teeth and squeezing just enough to make her gasp and squirm and then starting the whole process over again. He didn't stop until she was panting, her chest heaving up and down so fast it was tiring her out. Her eyes were closed tightly. Her skin was hot, and the pressure at her core had become something entirely different. Something that made sharp, electric sparks zip down her spine and filled her with a pleasure she hadn't known was possible. A pleasure that shouldn't have existed at all really, because it was wrong. She was wrong. This was all just...wrong. 

"You taste like sunlight, did you know that?" Her eyes shot to him, pulled from her thoughts by his vulgarity, and Jonathan smiled. "See?"

He kissed her when she looked at him, his tongue slipping between her teeth when she let out an indignant cry and suddenly she was frozen. She didn't know what to make of the tangy taste on her tongue. The taste of her own body. Really she didn't want to think about why his lips were so wet. What that meant about her. He pulled back to see her reaction but when he saw her face his smile melted.

For a moment, Clary was scared she had angered him in some way. That he might lash out at her again, but the expression on his face wasn't angry. She didn't really know how to read it, and all too suddenly he was leaning back down to kiss her again. She saw in coming this time, but she didn't move because she didn't know what the hell was going on anymore. This time it was gentle, entreating. He didn't bite her or hold her tightly the way he liked to. He simply kissed her, his tongue flicking out in question against her lips. She didn't part them though, and when he grew frustrated, his hand slipped down between her legs and she felt his finger against her sex. Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth thinking that he was offering one torment or the other, but when she parted her lips his finger slipped inside her regardless. The pressure was strange, not painful but different, and for a brief moment she couldn't bring herself to move, as if freezing would make it go away. Jonathan sighed against her lips and leaned back to search her eyes.

"Calm down, tensing up will only make it hurt."

"This…doesn't hurt." She faltered, trying to find just a small piece of her backbone and realizing what she was saying halfway through. It made him laugh softly and shake his head.

"I'm not talking about _this_." He said slipping his finger out of her and pumping it back in with a second. They met no resistance though she squirmed at thr slight stretch. She was too slick and he slipped right in. His thumb was on her clit, teasing it while he leaned down to kiss her. "I'm just being gentlemanly and getting you ready, yhough I'm sure there won't be a problem. You're already incredibly wet."  
" _Jonathan_ ," she snapped, blushing deeply.  
"Oh, look at Miss Innocent. What, did the Angel boy never whisper wicked words in your ear?" He smiled, nipping at her throat and working her with his fingers. "He never fucked you, that's for sure. I told that old bastard you were a virgin."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded, shocked by his statement. 

"I believe that _Hell_ is a big part of it."  
"What?"  
"Isn't that where demons come from?" He tilted his head to the side and squinted at her in curiosity. "So why would you ask what is wrong with me? I am simply _wrong_. Why else would I bed my own sister?"

"Will you really do it?" Clary asked, searching his eyes and hoping to find them filled with doubt. The demon however, only stared back at her and the hand that had been working her slipped away to unfasten his pants. That was answer enough.

She didn't get the chance to thrash around anymore, or curse him, or beg. All she heard was his zipper, all she saw were his black, fathomless eyes, and then it was too late. Too late to stop it, too late to talk her way out of it. Jonathan shifted, wrapping his fingers around the leg he had pinned and pushed forward and then it was all over. He was inside of her.

This invasion was worse than his fingers. She couldn't have brought herself to actually look at his cock, but it felt enormous. She cried out as pain swelled between her legs, arcing out along her skin to make her arch up, unintentionally pushing him deeper inside of her. Clary gave another cry as he pulled out of her and thrust back in again.

"Shit," Jonathan breathed, his forehead falling forward momentarily to rest against her chest as he began to fuck her. He started at a slow rhythm, pulling out of her completely and pushing back in to the base of his cock. Clary was beyond words, too lost in what was happening. That it was happening at all. That it felt so strange, and invasive, and it hurt, and she just couldn't think beyond it all. The world was melting in on itself and she had no power to stop it.

"Kiss me." The murmur came from against her ear, followed by a quick nip of the lobe to make her shudder. When she only shook her head, Jonathan frowned. He withdrew from her to thrust forward harshly, their hips snapping together and it sent another spark of pain through her. Message received, Clary turned her chin up to him and found his lips. He wasn't kissing her back, simply smiling as she ravaged him in hopes of pleasing him. If she did that, perhaps it would be over quickly. Already his enthusiasm was getting the best of him. His rhythm was increasing and each thrust drove her ravaged back into the cold steel making her wince. It wasn't until one particularly rough thrust, that she broke the kiss to make a sharp sound of pain.

Jonathan paused, withdrawing and glancing down at the traces of blood that colored the frozen steel beneath them. He sighed and leaned over her. Clary panicked a moment, not knowing what he planned to do, but suddenly the rope binding her arms to the table went slack and she pulled her arms against her chest. Her wrists were still bound, but at least she could use her arms again.

"Is that…it?" She asked hesitantly.

Jonathan smirked, "Have you come yet?" She blushed fervently and turned away so he laughed. "Then no. You're just taking the driver's seat."

She didn't understand that at first, her mind reeling with confusion as he grabbed her hips and pulled her upright. Jonathan shifted to sit on the table and pulled her across his lap as he did. When she was straddling him, and the warm flesh of his cock was pressed firmly against her, she understood.

"I can't."

"Sure you can," he smiled, taking her hips again. He rocked them slowly, sliding his cock along her slit. It made the air catch in her lungs and a shudder rattle her frame. "It's easy."

"I've never…" She trailed off and shook her head. "I don't know how."

"I'll help you." He smiled again reaching up to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and pull her down into a kiss. Their tongues met because she wasnt keeping her lips sealed anymore. It didnt seem worth it wheb he would get what he wanted anyway. She kissed him back with everything she could muster until suddenly she felt him pressing into her again. Clary tensed, sitting up on her knees, but Jonathan chuckled and pulled her back down, reaching between them to guide his cock back inside of her.

"Hush," he murmured against her lips. "Stop fighting."

"It hurts," she whimpered back, her arms were bent between them, her hands in tight fists against his chest.

Jonathan tucked a lock of loose red hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek. "It will pass." He assured and his hands were back on her hips, guiding them forward, rocking her slowly down onto his cock. Instinctively she tensed again and it made him suck in a sharp gasp before pulling her bound arms around his neck. It pressed them closer, made her curl around him. Now to anyone who might stumble upon them it would look as if she were the aggressor. Holding him close, pumping herself onto his cock.

"Use your hips Clary," he murmured. His teeth were at her throat, teasing the sensitive flesh there. She tried to comply, really she did, but each thrust was a swell of pain and grinding herself against him felt so much more twisted then letting him fuck her. It made it seem as if she liked it.

"Harder." He insisted, "Roll your hips, like this." His fingers still digging into her sides, he guided her along, rocking her against him, and each time she rolled forward to take his thrust his pelvis would grind against her mound, stimulating her clit. It was an odd sensation at first. A tingling that made her shift and frown, but soon it grew to something more. Something that outshined the pain and made her shudder and gasp.

"There you go." Jonathan smiled, kissing her again to quiet her unintentional moans. She had quickened their pace without even realizing it, and despite how it made her heart ache, she knew that Jonathan would recognize it for what it was. That she was, at least in the most basic sense, enjoying this.

"Fuck," he breathed, closing his eyes a moment to savor the sensations. "Just like that..Keep going."   
Her pace faltered as her body and brain fell into sync again and she realized just what was happening. That she was fucking _him_ , but Jonathan's eyes snapped open and his grip on her hips tightened to keep their rhythm steady.

"Don't give out on me now Clary. If you cut me off halfway I'll be tempted to use that whip again." He said it softly but a flash of cold fear sent her into a renewed round of grinding, rocking and bouncing on his cock until even the demon let out a sound of pleasure. She wasn't nessisarily quiet either, unable to keep back all the little gasps and cries that came with their fucking.

"Faster," he ordered and though she tried, she couldn't quite keep up. Jonathan wasn't fazed, he saw that she couldn't comply and simply surged forward. Clary fell back against the opposite side of the gurney and he followed settling over her as he had in the beginning. Then he was inside her again, and pounding into her with abandon. Clary shouted, her voice rough and husky and broken and still he continued. His force was hurting her again, but this time the pain was nothing but an addition to the pleasure. They mingled and each time he thrust into her and their hips snapped together the swell of pain and pleasure caused her to cry out again. It got to the point that Jonathan had to reach up and clamp his palm over her mouth to quiet her, and even then in the damp, stone room her voice carried. Someone would hear them if she wasn't quiet, but she couldn't stop herself. The swell of sensation was taking over, building between her thighs and spreading outward. There was a heavy electric buzz that started at her core and each time Jonathan pushed inside of her it intensified. Her skin was burning, her breath coming in shallow pants and she now clung to Jonathan because she didn't know what else to do. She was grabbing blindly, clutching him close, pressing her damp cheek to the warmth of his smooth skin and moaning when his teeth found her shoulder between thrusts. The gurney was bashing loudly against the stone wall, the wheels squeaking against the breaks. Deep in the bowls of the cellars, the creatures that could hear them were crying out. There was a howl that echoed through the stone, and a sound like cackling and a hiss mingled into one. Other things could hear them and they were taking notice, which meant that Valentine would take notice too.

"Jona…Jonathan." She panted against him but he wasn't slowing their pace.

"Mm-hmm?"

"We're… _nnh_ …we're too lou- _aaahh_."

He simply grinned, and his head fell forward against her as he drove himself deep. Clary gave a hoarse cry as the buzz at her core exploded outward, rippling just below her skin to her fingers and toes. She felt a steady heavy pulse and deep inside she constricted around Jonathan, making him freeze inside of her and moan loudly. Her body clamped down on him as she climaxed and it took only a moment for him to follow.

Silence overtook the room, broken only by the heavy pants of their labored breathing. Jonathan slowly lifted his head, searching her flushed face with a smile that spoke of triumph. He watched her a moment, her breasts heaving with her breath, the way her body trembled with the echoes of her very real orgasm. This wasn't something she could sweep under her rug. She came, just as he'd promised, she'd liked it, even if it was her body betraying her, she had enjoyed it and he had seen everything. He made her scream and fuck him back. Suddenly Clary felt very sick.

"You're putting it together, aren't you?" he asked softly, brushing the damp hair from her face. "You realize that things are different now."

"You raped me." She snapped, unable to look at him and the smugness of his expression.

"Did I?" he asked, lifting her chin to search her eyes again seriously. "Is that what this was?"

"Yes." She answered, but her reply was timid, unsure. Had it been something else? Had they really crossed a line here, other than the obvious? She wanted to say that this was all Jonathan's fault, that he had forced her every step of the way, and it felt as if he had, but she knew better. Deep down, she knew that some of that horrible blame was on her, that all her moaning and grasping made this into something she didn't want to categorize. Something twisted.

"Get off of me and get out." Clary said, her voice dripping venom that only made the demon laugh. Nodding, he leaned down and kissed her against her will then pulled his flaccid member from her and put himself away.

"Whatever you say Clarissa." He replied, still grinning. Still high on his victory. "Until next time then." He said and grabbed his shirt, jumping out of her reach when she tried to claw at him. He left the cell in a fit of laughter and Clary saw red. She gnawed at the ropes around her wrists, wincing at the burned skin beneath them until they fell away. It took some time and as she tugged at the rope with her teeth, her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. She sobbed as she freed her hands and stumbled off the gurney to find what was left of her clothes. She pulled them on jerkily, feeling as if she were suspended above her body as she made her way out of the cellar and back to her room. Suspended because this person couldn't possibly be her. Clarissa Fairchild would never do the things she had just done, she would never mew and scream for a demon and she sure as hell wouldn't sleep with her brother. This was someone else. Some _thing_ else. She was different now, changed, and she barely felt the pain in her back anymore. Not against the aching hole that was growing in her chest, threatening to suck her down into herself. Into deep dark cold. She wondered idly if she would ever surface again, but exhaustion was making her curl into a ball on her mattress, ignoring her pillows and sheets. She wrapped herself into a tight, little ball and just lay there, sobbing into the cotton until finally, mercifully, she drifted away into heavy, black sleep


	6. Martha

"Clarissa, I'm tired of this. You will eat."

Jonathan glanced up at his father as he spoke, sneaking a look at the silent red head across from him. The family sat at the great dining table tonight. They were feasting in celebration for their latest victory. It had taken work, but Valentine managed to get information that led to the finding of a rebel camp just outside of the Idris forest. The Lightwood girl made a splendid captive, since she was good for little else now half conscious and smiling in silence. Jonathan had taken her out into the forest, carving skin like she was his great, chiming dinner bell, and just as he'd wanted the silly emotional fools rushed to her aid. They killed most of them, a little over 40 men, women, and children who had hidden in the trees like vermin. The rest were taken to the cellars to be interrogated, and every once and a while a scream could be heard faintly from downstairs. Valentine had spoken briefly of getting better sound proofing for the civil upper half of the house, but Jonathan would miss the occasional shriek from their dungeon. It was delightful dinner music.

He had plenty to be happy for tonight however. Valentine permitted him to join the fray in their latest battle, and _gods_ had it been wonderful. He could still feel the electric buzz of excitement that came with the slaughter. Feel the warmth of blood as it washed over his hands, the snap of bones. He could remember the screams that came from those who fell beneath his sword and expected mercy. It had been a wonderful day.

"Clarissa, _eat._ " The room was filled with tense energy as their father threw down his fork and it clattered against the fine porcelain of his plate. His daughter remained silent and still, her face turned down and lost in the fiery tresses of her hair.

It had been one week since Jonathan had gotten inside of her. One week since he'd made her pant and scream and writhe for him, and already he found himself musing over how he would do it again. Which ways would he take her, how much would she love it this time? Could he get her to moan his name if he tried? How far could he push things?

"Jonathan," Valentine sighed, bringing his son from his wicked daydream. "Will you help her? It seems she is incapable of feeding herself. I have little use for a daughter that can be blown away by the slightest breeze."

Jonathan, sighed, pretending that this was a great and irritating chore, when in reality he couldn't wait to touch her. Clary was suddenly focused, her eyes snapping to him and narrowing as she followed his progress around the table. She didn't flinch away from him anymore, which he liked, but she was instead hostile. Her eyes blazed green fire as she glared at him, her lips curling into a sneer of disgust. When he reached out to place a fork in her hand, she jerked away from him, shoving her chair away from the table with a loud screech.

" _Don't touch me_." She hissed, but Jonathan covered his ire with a charming smile. He planted his hands on the table leaning down beside her and looked directly into her eyes. With Valentine here, he couldn't put her in her place with direct words on what they had done together, but he could still hint at it, and in front of their father he knew she would give him all her attention.

"Now, Clary, we're here having a wonderful family supper and you want to ruin it by acting out. I would hate to have to take you back down to the cells. You're old one is still open for you any time you need it." His lips curled into a wicked smile, "I've just been _waiting_ for an excuse to get you down there again."

"I'll eat," she said quickly, face flushing, and he fought back his laughter at her expense. She was far too easy to tease. He slipped into the chair beside her, loving the way her eyes kept sliding to him nervously, as if she feared he would throw her onto the table and take her right there. He had to admit, the idea was tempting. Were their father away, he might have done just that. Then again, if their father was away, he would have never let her out of that cell. Perhaps he would have even bound her up and kept her in his room instead, a permanent plaything. The thought made him shiver.

"It seems punishing you was not a waste of time after all," Valentine smiled tightly to himself, glancing at his son with what might have been pride if he weren't such a hateful bastard. "Jonathan is quite adept at what he does."

"I'm sure Clary will agree with you," Jonathan grinned, watching her as she sipped at her soup daintily. "Did you have much difficulty walking after?"

Clary choked on the soup then, eyes going wide and coughed into the table. Valentine simply sighed, passing it off as her clumsiness, but Jonathan knew what the red blush meant on her cheeks. She was shaking slightly, but this close he could easily see it, and it was hard not to reach over and touch her hair, or pull her into a kiss, if only to push her farther. Then he had a wonderful idea. Leaning toward her again, he pulled the napkin from her lap and dabbed at her mouth once her coughing had subsided. 

"You should be more careful, Clary." He said with a smile and beneath the table he slipped his fingers across her thigh and squeezed. Clary went rigid in an instant, not daring to look at the offending hand lest she draw their father's attention to it. Her eyes snapped to Jonathan instead and their message was clear. _What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?_

"Here, let me help you." He smirked, lifting her spoon with the other hand and feeding her. "Go on. Eat."

Clary watched him, still frozen until his fingers slid up along her inner thigh and between her legs. He stroked her once, light and teasing and she nearly upended her bowl when she jumped at it. He pulled her back down of course and his fingers magnetized right back to their place against her, stroking her over the cotton of her panties.

"What is wrong with you?" He sounded confused for their father's benefit. Briefly he considered that he wouldn't be such a convincing actor if not for Valentine's constant push to excel. He'd taught his son how to trick him, and honestly it was hard not to laugh at the brief realization. He pulled himself back to the situation at hand and gave Clary a mocking wink before their father could catch it. "Stop acting like a freak and eat your diner." 

"I think I can do it myself, thank you." Her voice jumped when he slipped beneath her panties and they were touching flesh to flesh. She was hot, he noted, and part of him wondered if just a little of that was because of him. It had to be. Did embarrassment even reach the vagina?

"By the looks of you, I'd say not." He tilted his head to regard her pointedly. "This dress was too small when you got here, now it's hanging from you like a rag."

"We will have to begin monitoring your meals." Valentine interjected softly, reminding Jonathan that he was still there.

"That or feed you with a tube." He added to her glare.

"Try it and I'll-"

"Children please." Valentine sighed, setting down his fork and pushing away the empty plate that had housed his steak. "Can you not be civil for one hour? I tire of your incessant bickering."

"It's all in good fun," Jonathan grinned and pushed a finger deep into his sister. She sucked in a soft gasp, her own fingers knotting in the hanging table cloth just out of their father's sight. "Isn't that right, Clary?"

" _Yes,_ " she said quickly, but her voice was too breathy and urgent to get passed their father. Valentine's eyes narrowed slightly and he watched them a long moment. He seemed to be about to say something when the door behind them opened and a small, dark-haired maid scurried in for their plates.

Jonathan was taken off guard, and even he could not pull away in time. The servant's big, doe eyes were locked on his hand, before slowly she raised them to look at him in the face. Clary was a deeper red than her hair, he was simply angry. To her credit, and perhaps because she knew enough to fear him, she didn't say anything. She hurriedly gathered their plates and bowls onto the steel trolley cart she'd rolled in with, replacing them with steaming black coffee.

"Will that be all for tonight, sir?" She asked Valentine the soft question without looking toward the rest of the table again. In fact, she was taking special care not to look anywhere near Jonathan while he was starring at her. He was certain she was aware of his attention too. The shells of her ears were flushed red and the back of her neck was raised with gooseflesh. 

"Yes, Martha," Valentine gave her a brief, cursory smile. "I will be taking my coffee in the study tonight. Clarissa won't be needing it, she's already too excitable."

The maid nodded and hurried from the room, sneaking only one glance behind her to find that Jonathan was still watching before she dashed out of sight. He ground his teeth a moment, starring after her. It wouldn't do to have a servant shooting off her mouth about what he did in private, he couldn't have it getting back to Valentine. If there was one thing he knew, it was that servants could talk, and rumors spread like wildfire. The son of her master fornicating with his sister, that one would catch _quickly_. He would have to deal with her. He was aware how funny it was that he cared after what he'd just been doing at the same table as the man. He was aware it had been risky for the sake of teasing Clary. He also knew the old man was barely even looking at them tonight. He was still skimming the manifest of items gathered from a raid in Paris. He loved gathering powerful magical objects, anything that benefited him, and his children, well they were only important when he needed them. A bit of weirdness at the diner table was one thing. A chatty maid who had seen too much was another entirely. That just might get the bastard's attention. 

"I'm going to bed." Clary said suddenly, pushing herself from the table and letting her wild red hair shield her face again. No doubt she was hiding her blush, but at the moment Jonathan couldn't follow her. Instead, he rose and downed his coffee, ignoring the burn as it crept down his esophagus.

"If she's free to go, can I leave too?" he asked innocently enough, though beneath the table his foot was tapping impatiently. Would the woman keep it to herself in shock, or would she blab to the first other maid she found?

Valentine shook his head, giving a faint smile. "You have done more than enough tonight Jonathan. You make me proud."

Any other time, this praise from his father would have floored him. It wasn't often that Valentine said such things, and rarely in front of other's where he might be held accountable for it. In light of the situation however, he could only nod with a tight smile and hurry from the room after Martha.

She was fast, he had to give her that. She'd already made it into the kitchen by the time he caught up with her and that made him anxious. Deciding the risk was too great to be patient, he followed, bursting through the kitchen doors and into the bustle of work staff. Conversation died at his appearance almost in an instant and suddenly those that weren't stuck openly staring for a moment were hard at work again. Jonathan didn't miss the looks they gave him as they tried to pretend his appearance didn't put them all on edge. There were whispers in the outskirts of the room, glances risked beneath hair and quickly averted when noticed. They were afraid of him, but it wasn't the respectful fear they showed Valentine. No. To them, Jonathan was just a demon. A monster made flesh by his father and left to roam freely. They feared him because they thought he was evil. They thought he would eat their souls. Sometimes he found it amusing to give them more to gossip about.

Any other time, he might have, but not now. His eyes narrowed, scanning the room until he found her, hidden in the back, trying to make herself as small as possible. The maid noticed his attention, and he noticed the two other women she was hiding behind. Had she told them? They were starring at him, but that could have been because he was making a quick path toward them.

"You're name is Martha, right?" He stopped in front of her and watched her face go pale. The maid nodded quickly, glancing around the room, like she wanted saving. Like she thought he was going to hurt her. Smart girl really.

"Valentine needs you in the study. Come with me please."

"I have work in the library, sir," she replied in a small and terrified voice. She couldn't even meet his eyes. "I have to dust the books before tomorrow morning and if I don't start now I will never be finished and-"

"This way please," Jonathan didn't bother listening to the rest of her lie. He grabbed her arm and pulled her after him, heading for the back door to the kitchen. Martha let out a startled little gasp at the contact, stumbling along after him and staring helplessly back at the kitchen as he guided her quickly away from it and the prying eyes of the help.

There was a small sitting room at the end of the hall. It hadn't been used for anything but storage since Valentine took the place, and by the collecting dust he knew they would not be disturbed here. Perhaps when he was finished, he could take Clary here too. He had to push the thoughts away. It wasn't the time for daydreaming. 

Martha yelped when he tossed her into the room, falling into a stack of wooden crates and groaning like he'd tossed her with any reak force. It was a bit overdone really, but she was frightened, so he let it go. Jonathan locked the door behind him and turned to face her, waiting patiently for the woman to collect herself.

"I'm sorry!" she cried suddenly, eyes wide. She moved to put the crates between them. "I didn't mean to see anything, I _didn't_ see anything! You don't have to worry, I won't tell anyone, I swear!"  
He smiled, honestly amused by her panic and the fact that she thought that was all he wanted.

"But you _did_ see it, and I fear I _do_ have to worry." As he spoke, he moved closer, stalking her slowly. The maid watched him in utter terror, backing away until she found the wall. Honestly, it was a bit ridiculous. He hadn't done anything she could know about to instil this kind of fear, and it was a bit offensive to think of what the gossip must have been to gain this reaction. He decided to do a little snooping when he was done here, perhaps find the one slandering his name.  
"See, Martha, is it? I don't know you. You could be the house gossip as far as I'm concerned. Loose lips sink ships. I'm sure you've heard that."

Apparently she had, because Martha tried to run. She dashed for the door, grabbing the handle and trying to force it open, but she'd forgotten the lock. Her mistake gave him time to follow her, slamming his hand against the door beside her head and making her cry out in fear, curling in on herself against the wood. She went very still with him so close behind her, practically pressing her into the wall. Her fists were balled up against her chest and her head was down. He couldn't see her face from his position, but she might have even been closing her eyes.

"That didn't help me trust you, Martha." He spoke softly just beside her, tucking the dark brown waves of her hair behind her ear. It made her shiver and flinch at the contact. Martha sobbed quietly a long moment, and when she finally looked up at him, she turned around and grabbed the front of his shirt.

"I'm sorry!" She cried out, face red and blotchy from her tears. "Please! I'll keep quiet."

"But how do I know that Martha?" he asked gently, shaking his head. "You'll say anything _now._ "

"No. I swear it. I won't tell a soul, on my life!"

He drew a breath through his teeth pretending to consider this. "I don't know. I don't like unnecessary risks Martha, it's too easy for you to break your word."

"I won't!" She shook her head frantically. Her fists were wrinkling his expensive shirt, but honestly her reaction was too entertaining for it to bother him. "I promise you, please! Just don't kill me."

"Hush, sweetheart," he said laughing and cupping her chin to gaze down into her eyes. She was at least a head shorter than he was and the difference seemed to be putting her further on edge. "Who said anything about killing you?" She sniffled, gazing hopefully up at him, and he smiling charmingly back. "That would only get me in trouble, and it would be rather messy. Besides, who would clean it up if I killed the maid?" Martha's knees gave out at his words and she groaned in fear. He caught her easily enough chuckling into her hair. 

"Calm down, Martha, I'm kidding. There are plenty more maids to clean you off the floors. It wouldn't be an issue."

"Don't! Please don't! I have a family!"

Jonathan scoffed at this. "Who doesn't? Is that supposed to endear you to me?"

"I'll do anything!" She insisted. It didn't have the ring he wanted in it. Coming from this wide-eyed woman, it just didn't sound the same. Jonathan frowned at her volume. She might bring attention with all this yelling.

"I know you will, Martha." He smiled at her again and stroked her cheek. "Just like I know how you can make it all up to me."

"Yes!" She nodded frantically, "Whatever you want."

"Stick out your tongue." He said simply. The maid looked at him in confusion a moment, frowning until Jonathan reached for his belt, drawing his dagger from its sheath. Then she really started screaming.

"NO!" Martha shrieked slamming back against the door when she tried to escape him, but she was still trapped and he wasn't going to let her go anywhere without making sure she couldn't tell a soul what she'd seen. He would cut out her tongue before she ruined everything.

" _Shh_ ," Jonathan soothed pointlessly, grabbing her around the throat and dragging her deeper into the room. She thrashed in his grip, but was no real challenge. There was an old red velvet armchair in the back of the room with a ripped cushion. He shoved her down into it and planted his knee against her stomach to keep her there, tilting back her head.

"It will only hurt for a moment, then I'll heal you up and you'll be perfectly fine."

She shook her head, continuing to fight him until Jonathan got fed up and leaned down to speak directly to her, staring into her wide frightened eyes. "I can cut out your tongue, or I can kill you Martha, which would you prefer?"

"Please," she begged through tears " _Please don't._ "

Her responses had been much the same after that, pleading and bargaining and sobbing. It was all very tiresome. In the end he couldn't help himself. Putting an end to the incessant crying was worth the risk of Valentine's punishment. He'd been wrong however in telling her she had a choice. The muscle of her tongue had cut away easily enough, but not without blood everywhere. It stained his shirt to hell and covered the floor and the chair he'd struggled to keep her in. Eventually she'd made it to the floor. She gagged and sputtered and choked on her hands and knees, blood pouring from her mouth dangerously large puddles across the hardwood. It was all rather messy and he'd tried to heal her, really, but the shock and the pain made her attack and Jonathan just couldn't have that. 

Martha was no longer working for the household. He was even confident that it would take some time before anyone found what was left of her.


	7. Missing

Martha had been missing for a few days when Clary finally realized she wouldn't be coming back. What's more, there were other disappearances as well. Two other maids and a gardener named Karl. From what she gathered, the first two had been with Martha the day she disappeared. The gardener hadn't even been working that day, so Clary couldn't figure out why he'd disappeared too. What made it infuriating was that she could not even look into these matters because Valentine couldn't bring himself to care for servants, much less any problem _she_ had.

"I am aware that we have lost a few of our staff, but that has nothing to do with you, Clarissa."

"You're right, it's Jonathan! He did something, he must have! He-"

Valentine stopped signing papers and set down his pen, turning to face her in his office chair. Suddenly her words failed her and she closed her mouth. Under those black, heartless eyes she felt powerless.

"And why would Jonathan have anything to do with it?"

"I…I don't know. He-"

"Then your accusation is completely unfounded and you are wasting my time."

"No!" She snapped, and then regained what she could of her composure. Of course she couldn't actually tell Valentine why Jonathan had killed Martha. That would mean admitting what they had done together and that was _never_ going to happen. On the other hand, dropping the matter would mean that Jonathan walked away clean. Only Valentine could really punish him and she _needed_ him punished. He had to be hurt, the way he'd hurt her.

"I think Jonathan was…"she trailed off, struggling to come up with something as Valentine arched an expectant eyebrow. "They might have been…lovers."

There was silence a long moment until Valentine burst into uncharacteristic laughter, sitting back in his chair.  
"Really Clarissa, I'm surprised you can even bring yourself to use that word. Has the mundane world become so sheltered, or is that just Jocelyn's influence?"

"You don't understand, they had a fight and I think Jonathan-"

"Is this what you do with your free time now?" Valentine asked with a patronising smile. He shook his head and went back to working on his papers, whatever the hell they were, they were always more important than her. _Everything_ was more important than her. "Gossiping about your brother's intimate life? Surely there are more productive things you could do?"

"You aren't listening to me!" Clary cried and his black eyes snapped up to narrow on her pointedly. She lowered her voice again. One did not yell at Valentine Morgenstern. "I think Jonathan might have lost his temper and-"

"Are you _jealous_ of your brother Clarissa?" Valentine's lips curled into a faint smile. "I did good in teaching him to socialize, he can be a charming boy when he puts his mind to it. Seeing him -a boy who is all but a demon- find companionship while you have only your shameful obsession with the dead traitor, well, I can see where you might feel inadequate in comparison." Clary could not respond to this because her jaw had dropped in shock and words were beyond her. Valentine, did not notice, or simply ignored this. "I should tell you that a girl of your age has no reason to bother herself with things like sex, but those are the words of a fearful father. In truth, I find that I am not as protective of you as I could be. In fact, there are times that I forget why you are here at all. Funny, that."

Valentine went back to his papers again as if he hadn't just told his daughter he didnt care about her, and waved impatiently. "Leave your brother alone, Clarissa. Find your own companions and leave his be. Now go, I have more important things to do than listen to your complaints."

Dejected and halfway to fury, Clary stormed out of the office, making sure to slam the door loud enough that he couldn't ignore it. She could show him a petulant teenager if that's what he wanted. How could he brush her off so completely? Why was his hatred still so fresh? Clary did not carry any real love for her father, how could she, but the knowledge that he hated her, his own child, was sometimes a little much. It was her place to disagree with her parents, to fight with them, but how could her own father see her as a stain, a waste? How could he be so dismissive and cruel? What the hell was wrong with the bastard other than the obvious?

Tears stung her eyes and she stomped her way to the staircase, intent on locking herself in her room for the rest of the day. She made it up the first step when she heard the laughter. Soft, masculine, mocking laughter coming from the shadows just beside the staircase. Clary's body went rigid out of instinct, her eyes narrowing on the tall, silver-blond boy moving toward her. Jonathan stopped at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the banister and crossing his arms. The stance was casual, but she knew that he could strike as fast as a snake and be on her before she could let out her first scream. His attempt to seem unthreatening was a failure.

"I heard the story in there," he smiled, tilting his head to regard her with a questioning look. "Pretty inventive. Lovers?" He laughed. "That was my favorite part. Who even says that?"

"He didn't believe me. He wouldn't even listen."

"Of course not," Jonathan said as if it should be obvious. "I am one of his greatest assets. Did you think he would risk losing me to my jealous little sister's lies?"

Clary watched him carefully, her grip on the banister now white knuckled. "Not all of it was lies, Jonathan. I _know_ you killed Martha and the others."

He didn't bother to dispute it, simply shrugged, checking his nails absently. "Well I couldn't have her running her mouth now could I? It wouldn't do for Valentine to find out about us yet." His eyes cut to Clary suddenly, narrowing enough to send a chill racing down her spine. "Which means you must know I'll have to punish you for what you did. Running to daddy like a little girl, all to spite me. You really should learn to pick your battles, darling sister."

Clary let out a soft cry when he shot forward, but his hand was over her mouth before she could get out the full scream. He grinned, pressing her back against the banister, their bodies flush together.

"Now what should I do with you _lover_?"

Clary was washed in rage at that and she jerked her knee up as hard as she could into his crotch. He hadn't been expecting it. Jonathan grunted, his eyes shooting wide and he slumped against her, curling into himself. She shoved him to the side, hoping that he might fall down the stairs. She turned to run, taking the stairs two at a time toward her room. It wasn't long before she heard him behind her and a burst of fearful adrenaline spurred her onward. Her door was just down the hall, only a few more feet. She rocketed forward, sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her and nearly slammed into her door trying to grab the handle. Jonathan made a sound of irritation, almost like a growl, behind her as she wrenched the door open and dashed inside, spinning to slam it closed behind her. The demon was too fast though, his hand slammed against the wood, shoving it open and sending her stumbling backward into her room. She watched him kick her door closed and lock it behind him, black eyes narrowed on her. His breath came in short, soft pants, his silver-blond hair was uncharacteristically messy and his black eyes were locked on her. He seemed suddenly more dangerous for his disheveled appearance. Clary found herself backing away from him, but it only seemed to excite him more.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said slowly, but had yet to attack. Instead he paced her, tracking her movement around the side of the bed with sharp, black eyes. "You insist on making things more difficult for yourself."

"You attacked me Jonathan," she insisted harshly. "How can you expect me not to defend myself?"

"Because you never have before," he laughed, but it was a sharp, frightening sound. Menacing laughter that made her tremble as he slowly moved toward her. "How should I know when you'll decide to use your backbone?"

She let out a furious cry at that, grabbing the first thing she could and lobbing it at him. The heavy art book tumbled through the air, but he knocked it out of the way at the last moment, scoffing.

"Really Clary, a book?"

Clary's teeth grit together hard enough that her jaw popped and she backed away. Her easel was to her right, the bookshelf to her left. Her aim wasn't good enough to try another book, so instead she kicked out her foot, smashing it into the easel. The thin wood splintered and she grabbed one of the small boards, lifting it up like a sword.

Jonathan arched a brow at this, his smile growing in amusement. "A weapon now? Feisty. I like it."

They stared at each other a long time in silence and Jonathan slid down into an easy defensive stance, beckoning to her with his fingers. "Well, come on then."

Clary charged with a war howl, at least that's how it felt. The cry rang from deep in her chest, a sound of rage and pain that made the demon's eyes widen slightly, even though he continued to smile. She brought the wooden staff down at his head and in the last second he shifted, missing the wood by an inch. His arm rocked out knocking the wood to the side and grabbing her free wrist when she stumbled. He spun her around like they were dancing, locking her back against his chest with her own arm.

"That was pathetic," he said into her ear. Her blood was on fire now, rage bubbled up in her throat, strangling her voice. She kicked back her head, but Jonathan shoved her away before ahe could hit him. When she spun back around he was laughing.

"Come on, Clary. You can do better than that. Show me what the angel boy taught you."

That got her charging again, just as he'd wanted, but she timed her attack. Clary brought the staff down at his head again swinging to the right, but as he shifted to avoid the blow, she swung her fist to the left, clocking him against the temple. Jonathan grunted, and stumbled back a step, and she took the opportunity to catch him with a roundhouse right in the gut.

The demon grunted again, soft and irritated, but he'd caught her foot and held it against him as he stood straight. Off balance and panicking, Clary fell backward, landing hard on her ass. She cursed and tried to scramble back up but Jonathan threw a kick of his own. Clary gagged as his boot connected with her gut. She couldn't brush off pain as he did and it took her a moment to get her breath back.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he asked harshly, kicking her onto her back to stand over her.

Her eyes cut up to him and she grabbed his ankle yanking with everything she had and knocking him onto his back. He cursed hotly and she rolled over, climbing over him to punch him across the face. His head turned with the blow and she delivered another, making him spit blood onto the carpet. She expected him to snap then, but he was laughing again. Laughing like this was the most fun he'd ever had and that made her all the more furious. In a moment of blind rage, Clary lifted the staff above her head and brought it down over his face like a sword.

"Shit!" Jonathan wasn't smiling then, he rocked her to the side, rolling over on top of her and pinning her weapon wielding hand to the floor. She clawed at him with her free hand, trying to free herself while Jonathan stared down at her in shock.

"You just tried to stab me in the _face_ ," he said in astonishment, then slowly that damn smile crept over his face again and he leaned down, kissing her before she knew it was coming. When she'd finally shoved him back, he laughed. "That was hot, Clary."

"Yeah, it'll be real sexy when I run you through, you stupid piece of-"

"Ah, ah," he tsked, pressing his finger to her lips. "No reason to get nasty." She tried to bite him but he snatched his hand away, tightening his fingers in her hair to force back her head. "Unless that's what you want, of course. Honestly, I'm still building up my appetite."

"Get the fuck off of me!" Clary yelled, and then gasped when Jonathan popped her across the cheek hard enough to turn her head.

"Keep your voice down," he said softly, staring down at her in a sharp way that made her feel small and helpless. She didn't like that he was still on top of her, and from the heat she saw in his eyes, she didn't want this to go the way she knew it would. Jonathan was evil and a damned pervert, two things that never should have mixed.

"Please, stop Jonathan. You punished me, it's over."

His brow arched slowly and he chuckled again. "Is it? That was just good fun, Clary. I haven't punished you yet."

"Then don't!" she cried. "Don't hurt me."

The demon smiled charmingly then, leaning down to kiss her cheek in what might have passed for affection if he wasn't such a twisted shit. "But I _like_ hurting you, Clary." He drew the lobe of her ear between his teeth, tugging it gently then kissed the hollow behind her ear. "I like the way you scream, the way you writhe beneath me. I like the way you stumble over your words when you're flustered. Hell, I like this little fight you're putting up. It's turning me on."

She shuddered as he pulled back, jumping to his feet and dragging her after him by her hair. He plucked the wooden staff from her fingers and tapped her on the side, motioning to the bed.

"Now I'm going to punish you," he said casually. "But don't worry, lover, it won't be too bad."

"No." She tried to shake her head, but he rolled his eyes and shoved her at the mattress. She hit the side and folded over it onto her stomach with a curse. Jonathan's hand curled around the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the comforter to keep her pinned. He kicked her legs apart and stepped between then, leaning over her and setting the staff down beside her. She didn't try to grab for it, she knew he wouldn't let her, and didn't want to make things worse. At the same time an icy stab of self hatred flashed through her, she was a coward. She was nothing. Perhaps God had seen fit to punish her for all she had done, the things she had let happen because she was too afraid to stop them. Isabelle had been captured, she'd argued and cried sure, but she never tried to let the girl go free. It wasn't as if she was always locked in her room. If they found Alec or Magnus would she do anything? Wasn't she Clary Fairchild? Didn't she control runes? And what had she done with this great power?

Maybe she deserved this.

***

Her eyes had gone distant now, lost in some dreamland, or pretending she wasn't really here, Jonathan didn't know. Either way, it was unacceptable. His fingers slipped into her hair, tightening until she let out a soft little sound and arched her back to look up at him. He liked that, all the wild red hair tumbling down her back, knotting in his hand. Her lips were parted as she looked at him, green eyes bright, frightened. That should have made him guilty, but he felt only excitement and a swell of something he could only describe as arousal. He liked that she was afraid of him, he liked the way it made her sharp, alert. Clary was so quiet nowadays, like Valentine had beaten all of the fire right out of her, but now he _saw_ it. It was back again, burning in her eyes as he stared down at her, bright and alive, and he loved that this part of her was his alone.

"You broke your easel," he said slowly, lifting up the shaft of wood beside her and turning it over in his hand. He saw her eyes dart to it and back to him, her body tensing beneath him. "Do you really hate me that much, that you'd destroy the one thing you have left, just for a few bruises?"

She didn't answer him, but she didn't have to. It was all in that bright green fire raging in her eyes. She met his gaze and didn't look away, and he had her answer. _Yes. I hate you._ A cold, unpleasant feeling slithered through his gut and he sneered, stepping suddenly back to swing the wood down against her backside. It was long and thin and would leave a decent bruise, perfect for a substitute cane. Clary let out a sharp cry, more startled than anything. He hadn't really hit her hard. Not yet.

Her thin fingers curled tightly into the sheet when he drew back again, turning her head as if hiding her eyes might stop it from happening. Her next cry was louder, even muffled by the mattress. Jonathan smiled to himself, pressing harder onto her neck, he didn't want to be interrupted, but he didn't intend to spend long on this either. Just a few good smacks, something to unnerve her. The wood cracked down over her ass again and she jumped, crying out into her sheets and clutching at them with white knuckled fists. It was funny to think that all she had to do was alert someone and perhaps she would be rid of him. She could have told Valentine the truth today, spoiling everything, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead here she sat, curling into her bed trying to keep her voice down so big brother could finish spanking her.

"Roll over, Clary." He said it softly, but his voice was firm and she didn't argue. When he released her neck, she sniffed meekly into the blankets and rolled onto her back, arms wrapped around her shoulders. She knew what was coming next, but couldn't stop it, wasn't even trying to. Odd, he thought, but pushed on regardless.

He didn't bother drawing out the process, he didn't have the patience for it now. Jonathan unfastened her jeans and tugged them down her legs, stripping them off and dropping them on the floor. Clary just sat there, stiff as a board with eyes wide as saucers, but still none the less.

"You aren't even going to struggle a little bit?" He asked with a sigh, leaning over her. "Have you already givien up Clary? That was fast."

"Are you going to taunt me all night, or are you going to get this over with?" she snapped and he couldn't help his smile. He knew what she meant, but couldn't keep himself from pushing her. Why was she suddenly being so tame? Why wasn't she playing back?

Jonathan's eyes narrowed and his smile turned sharp. "Fine."

He grabbed her arm and flipped her back over onto her stomach, settling himself between her legs. She was fighting now out of fright, thinking he would sodomize her, though that wasn't his intention. He didn't bother correcting her. The fear made her push up against the mattress, unintentionally grinding herself back against him in an attempt to escape. Clary shivered when he let out a groan and he felt it in his own spine. All that trembling, pressing against him, it was getting a little out of hand, he felt his control slipping.

Jonathan didn't bother discarding her underwear, he tore it off, pressing against her again and rotating his hips. His hand slid down her spine, curling around her hip. He shifted her, arching her back, forcing her to expose herself, and it sent her into a tizzy.

Clary whined softly, almost like a mewling cat, and tried to pull away again, but stopped quickly when she felt the fabric of his jeans. He'd noticed that the first time he'd fucked her. When she was naked and he'd laid above her, trying to touch every inch of her body that he could. She'd shuddered at the feel of the denim. Not a tremble, but a vibration that rocked her entire body, something that wasnt entirely fear. He could almost call it passionate.

"Jonathan," she said his name softly, turning back to look at him over her shoulder as he unfastened his jeans. She wanted to regurgitate her usual cries. _Don't. Stop. This isn't right._ But if she hated it as much as she said, why was her skin so flushed? Why was her breath coming in soft little pants? Why was the space between her thighs so hot he could feel the warmth of her through his jeans?

She hissed something out when he pushed into her from behind, but he was too lost to catch what it was. She was soft and hot and tight around him. Perfect. He lost it, letting out a harsh breath and burying himself inside her again. Clary gasped, just a soft little breath of a sound, but it drove him on. He pounded into her, there was no other way to put it. It was violent, but it made her hair bounce like writhing flames around her face as she cried out.

Jonathan's hand snapped down around her mouth and he pulled her back against his chest, grabbing the banister of her bed with the other so he could continue to fuck her. When she was quiet, his hand slipped beneath her shirt, pushing aside her bra to close around her breast. She fit perfectly in his hand, her nipple hard against his palm, and he had to kiss her again.

Did she even know that she'd been wet since the first swing of the wood? Did she realize that she was meeting his thrusts? Was she aware that she was kissing him back? He wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. She didn't enjoy this, that was too simple a way to describe it. She didn't even know she wanted this, but he would show her. He would make her realize that she wanted him too, blood relation be damned.

Jonathan pulled out of her suddenly and spun her around, pulling her flush against his body and wrapping a hand around the back of her neck. He kissed her with possession, hungrily and she responded in turn. He wasn't sure if she was doing it to make him happy, or just to get this over without hassle, but he'd take it either way. She was putting in an effort, and he wasn't sure she knew how funny that she'd bother.

"What are you doing?" she demanded when he began to walk them back toward the wall. He didn't answer, but spun her around, shoving her back against it. She groaned, sliding down the plaster an inch, but her eyes were bright, locked on him. He grinned, slipping his hands around the backs of her thighs and lifting them up around his waist. Her hands shot out to steady herself, wrapping tightly around his neck, and then she was letting out a sudden sound of repressed pleasure as he pushed back into her. He was not gentle, couldn't control himself enough for that, and each time she rocked back against the plaster she let out a cry. They were growing in volume now and he laughed, cutting off the next one with his mouth.

"Be quiet," he murmured against her lips, pulling at her lower lip with his teeth. A shiver raced down her frame and her eyes closed tightly, but he bit harder, drawing a little blood to get her attention before he pulled back to search hsr face. " _Look_ at me."

Clary's eyes peeled open again and she sucked on her lip, drawing at the blood. He watched this a moment before leaning down to draw on the split himself. She shivered at the feel of his tongue, her lips parting without his having to ask and he smiled again, kissing her and delighting to find her tongue meeting his and the sharp taste of salt from her tears.

He didn't know how long they kept up like this, he felt as if he were devouring her. Her head was tilted back against the wall, bobbing with his thrusts, her lips closed tightly to quiet her sounds of pleasure. And there was no disputing that that's what they were now. She was clutching at his shoulders, riding him just as eagerly as he thrust into her. Their breath came in shallow pants, mingling warmly between them. She smelled like something sweet, but he couldn't begin to describe the scent, it was purely Clary.

He didn't slow his pace until she rocked her head forward with a cry, biting down into his shoulder to silence it. She shuddered, tightening around him as she came, and he couldn't stop his smile from spreading. He followed soon after, possibly just because of what had just happened, pressing her hard against the wall, claiming her mouth again. Her lips were swollen from the force of his own but it only added to her wild, tousled appearance. Made him want to fuck her all over again.

Jonathan slowly set her feet back on the carpet, but kept her pinned against the wall, listening to the sound of her shallow breath. He liked the way she fit against him, with her eyes meeting his collarbones, she was small and thin, almost as willowy now as one of the fairy. His fingers feathered across her hair, brushing it out of her eyes and slipping beneath her chin. He looked down at her for a moment before he smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Tomorrow I'll go into town and get you a new easel. You'll have to paint me that portrait we talked about."

"The one where you're molesting me on top of dead people?" she said wearily.

He chuckled. "That's the one."

"Don't count on it."

"Don't challenge me Clary, it just gets me excited." He left her to worry about that while he cleaned himself off and straightened his clothes. Clary didn't bother, redressing. She didn't seem able to move away from the wall, she simply watched him. It's not that he didn't appreciate her nudity, it was simply distracting.

Jonathan grabbed her wrist and jerked her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest. Her head fell back so she could look up at him and he smirked. "I have to go now, Clarissa, but I'll be back to see you later."

She just stared at him so he sighed and kissed the top of her head. She didn't move as he left the room, but he was grinning. Hell he felt like skipping down the hall when he closed her door behind him. He might have if there weren't others in the main hall when he got there. Servants milling about glancing at him like a wild dog. Like he might attack them at any moment. Perhaps Clary was not the only one who knew what had become of the maids. He chuckled to himself and headed for the kitchen. Suddenly, he was starving.

 

He was in the library hours later, reading over some boring tactics manual that Valentine insisted he finish. His father was in the chair by the fire, reading over something else. He'd been lost in his papers all day today, had barely spoken a word to Jonathan beyond telling him the funny thing his sister had said about him. He'd laughed, asking if she really thought he'd been playing with the help, and then they'd fallen back into comfortable silence. At least until the door flew open and one of the Shadowhunters stumbled in.

"Isabelle Lightwood is gone, sir!" he said breathlessly and Jonathan closed his book, moving the boots he'd propped on the table to the floor to stare at the man. Valentine stood slowly, face blank.

"What do you mean gone?"

"Vanished, sir," the man insisted. "Her cell was open and the girl was gone. Someone had to have let her out."

"Of course she had help, you idiot. She could barely walk and…"Valentine paused and his eyes narrowed on the floor before snapping to Jonathan. " _Find your sister._ "

He jumped over the back of the couch, shoving the Shadowhunter aside, and raced into the main hall. He took the stairs three at a time, grabbing the banister at the last landing to jump the rails and race down her hallway. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Was she really that stupid? He rocked his shoulder against her door to throw it open and froze in the doorway. The room was empty, the closet thrown open and clothes littering the floor. She'd packed a bag, he thought. She didn't plan to come back.

A sound that closely resembled a growl rumbled up from Jonathan's chest as he stared at the broken easel across the room. She'd left her precious painting of the angel boy in battle. Part of him wanted to tear it to pieces in spite, but he spun on his heel instead and moved to his room.

Jonathan went through the motions of putting on his Shadowhunter gear in silence, with a bubbling of rage in his chest. He slid the dead Sebastian Verlac's sword into the sheath at his back, his steele into his boot and a collection of other little weapons whereever they might fit. When he went back downstairs, Valentine was waiting, his arms crossed, but by the look on his face, he already knew she was gone.

"Well?" he asked harshly and Jonathan sighed.

"I will find her." He said slowly, and marched out of the front door followed by a small group of Shadowhunters. He would find her and when he did, god he was going to make her sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is the end of the edit/rewrite part from FF. I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with this. Sometimes I just find it soothing to write fucked up things. So...we'll see?


End file.
